


The Winds of Winter

by lAPPYc



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ASoIaF, Book 6: The Winds of Winter, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Gen, a song of ice and fire - Freeform, twow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-25 02:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 208,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12521064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lAPPYc/pseuds/lAPPYc
Summary: This is a Winds of Winter fanfiction. Frankly, Gorge R. R. Martin is taking much too long, and this the only thing that will keep me sane. All the characters and places and thrones belong the the great author. Not to me. If you are just as desperate as me to read TWoW, give this one a chance. And keep telling me how you like it. Thank You.You can follow me on my tumblr blog asoiafnerd.tumblr.com for discussion and/or questions.





	1. Prologue

Bowen Marsh, first steward of Castle Black closed his eyes as the black brothers swept over him.

He could hear the giant roaring. Wick Wittlestick was cursing as their brothers disarmed him. He felt his sword being taken away. The sword his father had made for him when he came to the wall! The sword that had saved him on the Bridge of Skulls, but otherwise had not seen much use! The sword he would not use on his own lord commander!

As his legs were swept from under him by a kick, he remembered the words of his vows. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. People were shouting all about him, trampling him. But he never opened his eyes. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. His death was close now, he could hear it in the voices of his brothers. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. Someone was trying to help him up, but there was a shout, and the hand was wretched away. I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch, for this night and all the nights to come. And then he remembered hearing them from the mouth of young Jon Snow. The boy was going against his vows, Bowen thought as some held him up. He had promised to take no hand in the matters of the seven kingdoms. Had sworn to set aside his past loyalties when he took the black. Had sworn to protect the realms of men from the horrors from beyond the wall. Bowen began to weep, for deep down somewhere, he knew that all this had not pushed him over the edge, but it had been the fear that the boy was going to bring the ire of the house Bolton on the Night’s Watch. He did not even care about the steel that was tearing at his chest.

When he came to, he was being roughly shaken by a mailed hand. He opened his eyes, slowly getting his bearings together. Ser Axell Florent was bearing down on him, fury etched in every line of his face, ordering him to get up, telling him that he was in the presence of the queen. When Bowen got to his feet, he found himself in the king’s tower, surrounded by the queens knights, _no not the queen_ , he thought, _the widow_!

The queen was there, with her daughter Shireen, the red priestess Melisandre, the fool Patchface, and now that got a good look around, it seemed that all of the prominent queen’s men and even some black cloaks were here.

Ser Axell still had a grip on him, and was shaking him as he spoke to the queen “We should offer this traitor to the black brothers” he was saying, “That should show them that we stand by their side, and not Tormund Giantsbane’s.”

“And what side would that be uncle?” the queen’s voice was a whiplash, the result of fury and fear at her husband’s death, “The black brothers do not take any sides, and you just saw what happens to those of them who try, I think the Night’s Watch has made it clear that it will not take up steel against the Boltons Ser.”

Weakly, Bowen made himself speak, “what do you mean, offer me to my brothers?”

Ser Axell looked at him angrily, “they are gathered outside the tower demanding that we leave their hospitality, such as it was.”

A Black Brother Spoke to the queen, “your king has lost his war Your Grace”, on squinting at him, Bowen recognized him as Leathers. His head was still spinning from the wound in his ribs, “That accursed letter spoke of Boltons coming down on Castle Black if we do not hand you over to them. The least you could do is leave on your own accord.”

“Do we know this for certain?” Selyse turned to Melisandre, “my lady, please tell me, is Stannis…?” she trailed off, clearly not wanting to say the word.

Melisandre had been looking at Bowen till now, “The lord has not blessed me with the answer to that question your grace, every time I look for Stannis, I see only snow. But I have seen the wildlings amassing under our banners. Tormund is where you shall find an ally Your Grace, not the black brothers.”

“King Stannis left the wildlings here; he knew that they could not fight for shit. You saw that at the battle beneath the wall.” Ser Axell replied, “We should make our peace with the black brothers, and persuade…”

“I will make peace with the black brothers, no more. You heard Lady Melisandre uncle...”

“Yes I heard her” Ser Axell exploded, “Yes I heard her. Just like I heard her telling of stone dragons and heroes long dead. And now your husband has joined them!” He took a knee before Selyse “I no longer know whether Stannis is Azor Ahai or not, but I know that I will not let my niece and her daughter go the same way. I am not proposing to ask the Night’s Watch to take up arms against the Boltons, I just want a promise of safe passage to the Eastwatch and then a ship to Braavos.”

Shocked silence followed that ouburst. Bowen himself was shocked. He knew Axell Florant to be the leader of the queen’s men, the foremost of the men worshipping the red priestess. And now he saw the same uncertainty on his fellow comrades, all save the queen herself!

Selyse’s face was stone, “Flee?” she spat the word. “Flee? Is that your counsel uncle?”

“Think of your daughter!” There were tears in the stout man’s eyes.

“You think of her, Ser” Melisandre stepped forward, “If Stannis is indeed dead, she, as his heir, is the queen of the realm. By rights, it is your duty to see her seated on the iron throne.”

“If Stannis is dead, then according to you, the world will be consumed by darkness” Ser Axell snarled at her, probably for the first time in his life. “Then what does it matter who sits the iron throne.”

“It matters, for even if King Stannis is dead, we are not. I took you for a brave man Ser Axell, a brave man fights to the last breath.”

“Aye, for a cause he believes in, for something achievable. Stannis may have had a chance to take the throne, and I stood up for him, but Shireen is not Stannis, and this is not a war we can win anymore.”

“And what of our true enemy, or have you lost hope there as well?”

“That is a battle for the Night’s Watch, or are you suggesting that we all take the black now?”

“No, but I will have you help the Night’s Watch, as King Stannis did. Tormund Giantsbane has taken his people and fled, probably to Oakenshield. The Boltons will not trouble them there, as that letter said, but the Black Brothers will not be so indifferent. They will want them gone, and the only source of food for Tormund is Castle Black, surely you see that fighting is eminent Ser”

“So what are you saying, if we ask Tormund to take up sword against Roose Bolton instead of the Night’s Watch, he will comply?”

“Yes”

Ser Axell could only stare at her.

“I do not know why, but I know he will.” Melisandre said and took a deep breath. She moved to the centre of the hall. “The red god has shown me this. I know that your faith is wavering good sers. There is no shame in that. Even the bravest and the truest may falter in a storm. All such men need is a sign, and I shall give it to you. Come, we must light the nightfire.” And she left the hall, leaving them no choice but to follow.

When they came out, the fresh air was a relief to Bowen. But he could smell the tensions here as well. Melisandre was ahead, talking to the men of the Night’s Watch, to the men that had been his brothers mere hours ago. To the men that were averting their eyes from his or looking at him with accusation.

By the time the stakes were planted, Bowen Marsh knew he was going to be burned.

Fear rose up his gullet along with vomit. He fell to his knees. Hands grabbed him, as if they were afraid he might run. But he wouldn’t. He may not be able to contain his vomit, but he was not such a coward that he would run.

When they were strapping him to the stake, he noticed the body of Jon Snow being brought in front of the stake. Melisandre and her queen’s men were chanting but Bowen had eyes only for the young lord commander he had killed. Murdered. Then he felt the flames licking at his feet.

He started screaming when his breeches began to burn.

The fire had not come above his knees yet, and still it felt to Bowen that there was no other pain greater in the world. He could feel his flesh cooking, sloughing off. The smell of burning hair was heavy in his nostrils.

But even as he screamed in agony, Melisandre brought a torch near him and held it there until it caught fire. Bowen felt as if his whole body was burning .He struggled to keep his eyes open. Through a haze of smoke and tears, he saw the black brothers gathered in front of him. I shall live and die at my post. He hoped against hope that one of his brothers will put an end to this, at least the way Jon Snow had put an end to Mance Rayder's burning. But no one was moving. The fire that brings the dawn. They were all watching the red women as she put the newly burning torch to her lips and sucked all the flames in her mouth.

He did not know if he was hallucinating or not. With all the rest of the Night's Watch looking on, the red women knelt over the dead body of Jon Snow and kissed it on the lips. Bowen's beard had caught fire now, but still he struggled to look, and as his eyes burst in their sockets from the heat, the last sight Bowen Marsh ever saw was the corpse in front of him coming alive, shuddering, and then start moving.


	2. Victarion I

From the crow’s nest, Victarion Greyjoy could see that the battle had been joined, both on the ground and in the water.

He had sent his captured ships to surprise the enemy, led by a Meereenes warship they had captured the day before. The cogs and whalers and trading galleys were ill suited for war, but, filled with ironmen, would deliver a deadly surprise to the slaver. He had given the command to Longwater Pyke, “Keep your men hidden below deck and your scorpions covered. They will let you approach when they see one of their own leading them. When you are close, attack. Do not try to board them until we arrive.” He had begun to follow them when they were nothing but dots on the horizon. The swiftest ships were now outpacing the heavier ones. These will make up the iron fist that will smash the Slaver fleet, while the heavier ones will avoid the sea battle and see if they could land their troops aground.

He had taken utmost care not to let their enemy know of their arrival, or their strength. No ship that saw them had left them. He had used similar tactics to bring all of them in, filling three of his own captured ships with ironmen and giving them a head start. The Meereenes warship, Harpy’s Claw, they had encountered last afternoon. It had taken them for traders and had allowed them to board. A mistake. The fight, Rutters had told him laughing, had only been a fight of barred doors and flung hooks. The ship had been out to the sea for fishing, to get food for the slave army, and there too few soldiers aboard. But he had learned much and more about the enemy camp from them. He had also learned that he would be able to see the pyramids of the city before the Yunkish forces would glimpse them. So he had taken his ships close together and sailed out of sight of the land. When the tips of the pyramids appeared on the horizon, the attack had begun.

The Iron Captain climbed down from the crow’s nest, but not before admiring the pyramids. Victarion had heard that the Great Pyramid of Meereen was almost as tall as the Hightower of Oldtown. Though he could see that that was where the similarities ended. The Hightower was as skinny as it was tall, whereas the Pyramid was a sitting hulk. There were other pyramids in the city as well, but none as tall as the Great Pyramid. The captain of the warship Harpy’s Claw, now renamed Kraken’s Arm, had claimed that that was where the Queen had taken her seat, before she flew off on her dragon. Now looking at the pyramid, Victarion had thought, ‘ _Of Course, where else would the most beautiful women in the world would sit, but at the top of the world_?’

Back on the deck, he made his way to his cabin. Shouting orders to his men, clapping them on the back. He could see the other ships beside them, the men aboard them shouting at the sight of the battle in front of them. The battle lust was already upon them, and they were eager to quench it. This is how he wanted his men. This is how he wanted himself. He could not help but smile with pride.

Inside his cabin, the dusky women was waiting with his armor. He had only donned the breastplate before climbing up to the crow’s nest. Moqorro was in there too. The captain had commanded him to remain in the cabin throughout the battle, only to come out if Victarion needed him. The priest was too valuable to lose.

“My lord,” Moqorro entreated “I must say again, remain here with me, so that…”

Victarion cut him off, “My place is with my men, priest. I am an Ironborn, when battle is upon us, we do not hide, but go meet with her and fuck her up the arse.” He pulled the steel gloves over the cotton ones. “We will take the dragons when we must, not before.” The Red Priest wanted him to take control of the dragons as soon as he could, ‘Who knows the mind of dragons,’ he had said to Victarion, ‘today they are here, tomorrow somewhere else. Who knows who they might see or who might see them? Others like this horn that your brother found are rare, but they do exist. And the world knows of the newly come dragons. You might not be the only one seeking the dragons with intent to ride them.’

That was all well and good, but Victarion had other concerns.  A sailor had claimed that the queen had knights to protect her, and after the dragon carried her away, these knights had imprisoned her king and taken over Meereen and broken the peace she had arranged. But the captain of the Meereenes warship Harpy’s Claw, now renamed Kraken’s Arm, had said that it was only one knight, a white knight named Barristan Selmy. That was not a favorable thing for Victarion. Like all knights of the green lands, Ser Barristan was sure to have a healthy contempt and mistrust for the ironmen, and the feeling was mutual. Also, there was bad blood between the ironmen and Ser Barristan. When Balon had crowned himself, Ser Barristan had led the attack on Old Wyk and killed Lord Gareth Blacktyde. His Iron fleet consisted of men who had fought against him, lost their kin to him. Selmy was sure to know that. And if he suspected that Victarion meant to make off with the dragons, or even that he could control them, swords might come out. Victarion did not fear the old man, but the old man had all the support of all the queen’s freedmen and all the queen’s sellswords and her unsullied. So Victarion had decided to take care not to reveal the true extent of his prowess. He had asked Moqorro if he had seen such dragon seekers which he feared in his fires, the priest had replied no. So the captain had told him not to fear shadows that don’t even exist. And that even if there were such seekers, they will not have a red priest with them.

Armed and armored, he made his way to the deck. The men cheered for him as he made his way to the prow. By then they were almost upon the enemy, and the scorpions had begun to fire. He turned back, towards his people across the boat and shouted, “Through the centuries people of Westeros have learned to fear the sails from the iron islands. And every child on every shore has heard of the Iron Fleet. But we have neglected Slaver’s Bay. Let’s remedy that.” A loud roar greeted his words, from his ship as well as from Grief and Iron Wind that were sailing besides them. The Iron Captain turned to face the foe, and raised his axe. On this signal, the black banners of the Greyjoys were loosed over the sails.

They sailed through the wreckage of Shrike to meet a Quartheen Galley. The swordsmen on each ship yelled and screamed at the other ship while arrows and scorpions were fired. Victarion returned below  the deck, and waited until Grief raked the Galley from the other side. When he saw his chance, he commanded his men to board the Galley. Planks and ropes and ladders were thrown, and Victarion soon was on the other ship, sending slavers to whatever hell they had earned. The axe became a bloodthirsty storm in his hand. A man in with a longsword lost his arm, and would have lost more, if Victarion’s axe had not been buried in another’s neck. A boy nearing manhood ran at him with a Morningstar and Victarion made sure that he will never reach it. He spied a lantern sliding on the deck and picked it up and smashed it open on the dead boy’s head. Then he threw it at the sails of the galley, drenching the bottom in pitch. Soon the sails were aflame and the ship sinking. Victarion returned to his own ship.

From the deck he could see the Limper’s ships making way to the edge of the city walls. Leviathan and Lord Quellon were exchanging arrows with some of the Yunkish Galleys, but the main fleet of Yunkai and Meereen were focusing on his own swifter ships. Of the seven captured ships he had sent earlier, only three remained. The noble lady had taken a hit from the ram, but due to the cog’s big size, it was still afloat. Ghost’s sails were aflame, but it was still rowing towards a listing longship to make an end of it. The Kraken’s arm was being boarded by another warship, however. On seeing that, Victarion commanded Wulf One Eye to sail towards them. The orders was passed and shouted down to the rowers, and the ship turned towards the batteling warships.

When the Iron Victory raked the enemy warship, Victarion Greyjoy was the first to jump across over to the enemy ship. An arrow glanced off the plate on his arm as his axe bit into the other captain’s thigh. Victarion wrenched it free, and just in time, for a tall man with an axe was upon him, screaming. Back and forth, high and low their axes swung. Victarion ducked and jumped to escape the foe’s axe, while giving back in kind. A sudden wave made the deck heave, and the tall man lost his footing and stumbled. But he raised his shield in time, so with a scream, Victarion kicked him in the knee, and prepared to deliver him to the drowned god. But the man, instead of falling to one knee, fell flat on the deck, and then sprang onto Victarion. Both of them lost their axes and went down, grappling with each other. Victarion soon rolled away from him and got to his feet. As soon as he was up though, a mailed fist collided with his face, sending him back down again. Victarion fell near his axe though, and with a laugh he picked it up. He looked for his foe, and saw that he had also retrieved his axe. Victarion advanced on him, thanking the drowned god for such a worthy foe. Their axes locked, and Victarion forced them to the ground and gave the tall man a shove. The man shoved himself back from the rails however, and charged at Victarion with his axe raised above his head. Victarion raised his axe to defend himself, but had no need of it when an arrow sprouted from the poor steel of the taller man’s breastplate.

The battle materialized around him. For a while it had been just him and his foe, but now the creaking of wood, flapping of sails and the screams and the war cries returned to him in full force. Victarion would have had liked to best the tall slaver, but some bloody archer… He looked around to see from where the arrow had come from, but he could not tell. Letting it slide, Victarion jumped off the forecastle on to the deck, for the steps were in splinters. He entered a cabin and found three corpses and three Yunkishmen trying to kill an ironborn. Screaming, he went towards them, when he came out of the cabin, there were seven corpses inside.

Outside, Longwater Pyke came towards him, longsword in hand. “My lord, Ragnor’s gone below decks to sink the ship, we should go to my ship.”

Victarion looked for his own ship, but Pyke told him that it was behind them, answering some Tolosi ship that had slammed into it. They hurried towards the extended boards that connected the ship to the Kraken’s Arm, leaving wounds or corpses in their wake. Longwater Pyke was a good fighter, though not as good as Victarion himself. The board was withdrawn when they went aboard the Kraken’s Arm. The men left behind commenced to jump into the water as the ship groaned and started to sink. “Rope them in, the Ironmen” Victarion told a soldier, “And leave the others for the drowned god.”

Victarion looked about the ship, it had not sustained much damage. The rail was broken on one side, and one of the sails was half burned while the one in the back was listing to one side, its mast apparently hacked at. Pyke was saying to him, “Thank you for coming to our aid m’lord. Without you, we would have lost the ship. Such a sweet ship, would have loathed to part with it!”

Victarion knew what he wanted, “Keep it afloat through the battle, and the ship is yours.” He clapped the grinning man on the back, “Now, take me back to my ship.” But instead of responding, the man’s gaze went slack in wonderment as he gazed past Victarion, towards the city. “m’lord, look…” he said. Victarion turned, and saw the dragons.

Once again the battle around him disappeared. All he could see were the dragons. Both of the dragons were flying over the battle on the ground. Victarion could see that one of them was white, while the other one was green. As he watched them glide and turn over the battle ground, he found himself wishing that he was sitting atop one of them. Soon, he told himself, watching the green dragon, soon. “The trebuchets are fascinating for them.” He mused, as he watched the white dragon hovering over them. Suddenly, there was fire midair, and the dragon snatched a body out of the air. “It’s eating man flesh” Pyke shuddered. But Victarion did not reply. His attention was on the dragons, both of which were now snatching bodies out of the air. He watched the green dragon fly off to a pyramid of the city after taking two bodies from the air. Suddenly, the Iron Captain turned to the bastard, “Take me to my ship.”

His tone must have been harsh, for in less than five minutes, he was boarding his ship. He called to Wulf One Ear and told him to take charge of the ship, and to send the boys he had selected two days ago to his cabin. Before the man could ask any questions he turned away from him and went to his cabin.

Inside, Moqorro was waiting with the horn.


	3. Osha I

The weirwood tree on the hilltop was monstrous huge, pale limbs reaching into the night sky, leaves rustling in the wind. The flickering light from the torches made them look like a rain of blood, sometimes going up and sometimes coming down. The branches wove in and out of the shadows. The highest of them lost in the darkness, but still made their presence known by waving and snapping and creaking in the wind. But it was the face that made Osha uneasy. The face carved into the Weirwood. It is a cruel face, she thought, cruel and hungry. The mouth was curved in what looked like a bloody smile, teeth sharp and pointed poked through the sap flowing out. Above the mouth the eyes gleamed red in the light, seemingly fixed on the boy that stood before them. The boy and his wolf.

Osha had never been afraid of weirwood. The old gods planted the weirwoods on this earth to watch over men. If you could not turn to them, then you could not turn anywhere. Yet all her instincts were telling her to run! To flee this place! To take the boy and go! As they had been telling her ever since she put her foot on this godforsaken island! But now that the council had come together, all she could think was how to stop them from marching.

“Dragonstone may have fallen," The smuggler was saying, "but we can take it back once our business in the north is complete.” He was a slight man, thin. Peppery beard covered his jaw line below an ordinary face. Osha could not see him to be a knight, much less a lord.

“So first we fight Roose Bolton, and then this flowery knight?” Glowered Magnar from the left side of the crescent of the men standing in front of the weirwood, “Tell me again Onion Knight, who is the one asking for help here?”

Osha had seen grown men flinch before the Magnar, but the Onion knight held his own, “You want dragonglass to fight The Others. There are mines of it on dragonstone, chunks that grow out of the tunnels. However, you cannot take Dragonstone without Manderley’s ships. And Lord Manderley has agreed help King Stannis, not you. You need to get King Stannis to command Lord Manderley to give you his ship.”

Calot Magnar ground his teeth in fury. This one does not like to ask for help, Osha thought. The gathering was getting restless. They had come quickly enough when they had heard that they will be helping a Stark to his rightful place, but now that they had seen that the Stark was only a boy, their enthusiasm was giving way. Osha wondered what they had been thinking. Surely more men would have figured out that the boy on the hill was a Stark by now, given the direwolf.

Only Otherys Crowl did not seem deterred, “Ah, Calot, don’t fret overmuch, every house in the north must be itching to abandon Roose, you know that, and I don’t think we have much to fear from a shiny knight who names himself The Knight of Flowers." He laughed, shaking his pot belly, "truly, why would anyone want to be the knight of 'flowers', I would sooner be the knight of sword or shield, or at least of wooden stakes."

“I do not fear anyone, remember that Crowl.” Lord Magnar said glowering, but Othery Crowl just laughed again. Seeing an opening, the Smuggler spoke up, “Lord Crowl is right about the houses of north. The only thing keeping them loyal to Roose Bolton is Arya Stark. Now that Lord Tywin is dead, Stannis Baratheon is the strongest commander in the realm, with Rickon Stark as his ward…”

Osha had heard enough, “With Rickon as his ward, he will rally the north against the whatnots in the south, just like Robb Stark, leaving the boy in the same position which we fled from.”

“He is in a worse position here. Ironmen you escaped, you cannot escape The Others if they come, not without dragonglass.”

Osha’s anger flared, “So you would sell a boy’s life for a chunk of rock.” She looked around the gathering. At the news of the gathering, every major tribe had sent its chieftain and elders to decide whether to march or not. For the past two hours, they all had been shouting, jesting and threatening each other. But by now most of them had fallen silent and were watching the remaining four or five people debating, but Osha was determined not to join them. “The Onion Knight doesn’t care for the boy’s life, but he is your liege lord, you are honor bound to defend him, to keep him safe.”

“And we can do it best in Winterfell my lady.” Harmun Stane said in placating tone, it was him that had moved to hear the Onion Knight out before condemning him to a certain death when he was captured outside Magnar’s holdfast. “I know you care for the boy and want to keep him out of the war. But he is a Stark, and cannot stay hidden forever. War will find him eventually, and so long as this Baratheon king is here offering help, you would be wise to take it.”

“She would be wise to take it?” Crowl looked about in surprise, “Is this women to decide whether we march or not?”

Magnar scowled at him, “She is Lord Stark’s protector and guardian, the boy’s elder brother entrusted him to her care. She understands how things stand at winterfell better than us, by rights this should be her decision.”

Osha could here Otherys Crowl murmuring to his tribe elder. My choice, she thought. The Onion Knight was looking at her. As was Rickon, the boy lord. A six year old boy, and she had to decide whether or not let him march into the war, the same war he had fled his home with her to escape. “And what then?” She asked, trying to keep her voice steady, “What after you conquer Winterfell? D’you think this king will stay at winterfell to defend you against The Others, against the cold things coming from the north? Do you think bringing you dragonglass will be the first thing on his list? No, it won’t be. After taking Winterfell, he will move south to gather support from the riverlands, he won’t go mining for stuff he doesn’t need.”

“He already has.” The Onion Knight stepped forward, one hand groping his neck, “King Stannis had already ordered the mining to begin nearly half a year before Dragonstone fell. As for him moving south, I won’t deny it.” He nodded at Osha. “King Stannis will still have enemies to fight after Roose Bolton. He will try to get the riverlords and then the lords of the vale to back his claim, and then he will go further south.” He moved to Rickon’s side, “But that does not mean he will forget you.” He looked at old Stane, the ageing chief of the tribe of the hill of stane “I gather you know Stannis Baratheon’s reputation my lord? If so, then you know that he is a man of his word. He is the brother and heir of King Robert, who was Eddard Stark’s good friend. He is the rightful king of Westeros, just as Rickon Stark is the rightful lord of Winterfell, but most of all, he is a man that never forgets his duty. He followed his brother dutifully. And now with odds that would make another bend the knee, still is fighting for the throne, for the honor of his house, for it is his duty. Just as it is his duty to defend his realm against threats like The Others. He answered the Night’s Watch plea for help even when he himself needed help.” He looked at Osha, “I know what frightens you my lady, I know who you are. You scaled the wall with your friends to escape the wights. You knew that even Mance Rayder could not fight the dead. And then when you entered service at Winterfell, you saw Robb Stark take the swords of the north to south, marching them the wrong way, and you fear the same will happen again. But you are wrong! Stannis knows who the true enemy is, as Lord Stark did not. King Stannis is trying to conquer the realm to save it! Save it from the horror from beyond the wall. But he cannot do it if he has other enemies trying to kill him. He cannot do that unless he unites Westeros under his rule, and for this my lady,” He stretched out his hand to her across Rickon’s seat, “for this, he needs your help.”

Osha stared at the hand. The gloved hand was missing some fingers, she knew. Stannis Baratheon had himself taken them, she had heard, and still this Onion Knight served him faithfully. What would inspire such loyalty? Osha had seen the likes of it only beyond the wall, in the people the seven kingdoms called the wildling even if it were them that were always betraying each other. And Osha could see no reason to believe of the Onion Knight otherwise, at least until now. Stannis took his fingers, and still he is ready to die for him. The free folk had followed Mance Rayder because he was a fighter, and Stannis Baratheon had beaten him. And then he himself had opened the gates through the wall for the free folk. Could she trust him?

She took the hand in her own.


	4. Tyrion I

Tyrion Lannister came out of his tent, all dressed and armed for battle.

His armor was an assortment of mismatched parts coming dozens of different sets. Not unlike on his first battle. Though, on the Green Fork, the mail had at least not been broken and rusty. The worst was his helm, which smelled like vomit, no matter how much he washed and scrubbed it.

Outside, the Second Sons went about, getting ready for battle. A knight, Martyn Sand, was trying to get a pony into armor. In front of the tent opposite to Tyrion’s own, a couple of Myrish youths were eating fish out of a kettle on a fire. A couple of boys were fighting over armor at Hammer’s wagons, while their master was drinking his courage for the upcoming battle. _I myself could do with a little liquid courage_ , Tyrion thought as he eyed the dragons flying over the battle field.

All through his voyage across the world he had been picturing the dragons, imagining them from all he had read and all he had heard. But now he didn’t need to. They were right there. Flying near the trebuchets. Over the period of his stay in the Yunkish camp, in Yezzen’s tents or in the Second Son’s, he had only glimpsed dots with wings moving across the sky that could easily have been eagles or vultures. But these were no dots. The morning sun bounced off their scales, illuminating them in different lights. The white one, named Viserion, had threads of orange and red fire webbed into his skin. Rhaegal was dark green and light green alternatively, depending on the sun. Their wings stretched more than a normal man was tall when they glided or banked. And when they beat, pushing off the air, Tyrion could hear them across the battle field. The sight was mesmerizing yet terrifying at the same time, for Tyrion could also hear the woosh of the fire and the snap of the dragon’s jaw as they closed over the corpses flying through the air. Gods, let them be content with the men in the air. Tyrion went back inside the tent.

Inside, Penny was waiting. “Well?” She asked, “How long?”

“Soon my lady. The battle is still only near the gates.” He took off his helm and held it under his arm. “Ser Barristan seems to be targeting the trebuchets, just like Ser Jorah predicted. But the Ghiscari legions are holding them.” For the nonce, he might have added. The legions out of New Ghis and Tolos were formidable, and against them Ser Barristan had reportedly deployed the Mother’s men under command of a few unsullied, so the battleground was for now stationary. But soon, Ser Barristan had to send his full force, or risk his freedmen, and then, the battle may well come up to the camps.

Penny was not thinking like that though. “Maybe, the battle will not come here then. Do we also have to ride if the wise masters need the Second Sons somewhere?”

“ _I_ will have to _run._ ” Tyrion told her, picking up a wineskin and taking a draught, “since I have not been given a mount. You on the other hand, will stay in the camp. Away from all the swords and the arrows and the fires.”

“Wil, we be needed?” Penny asked him in a sort of pleading voice, as if he could make it not so, “You said you will convince Brown Ben to turn his cloak over to the Queen.”

Lannisters lie, or sometimes they just fail. “If we turn or cloaks, we will have to fight the Yunkish. There is battle to be had anyway.” The sooner you accept it the better, he thought, but did not say. He put the wineskin down and sat down on a straw and hemp chair to fix his boots. Penny gloomily turned her attention back to the hunting knife Tyrion had found her. Lately, Tyrion had grown weary of her whines. He tried to tell himself that she was little more than a girl, had never been in the center of so much death. But he himself was terrified and had little patience with which to reassure her. Even after all he had seen and done and survived, the sharp edge of a sword frightened Tyrion as much as it ever had.

The silence had almost become unbearable when Ser Jorah returned to the tent. The knight was armored and had a naked longsword in hand, for wont of a belt. His helm was off, and Tyrion could see that he was in a bad mood. “How did it go?”

“Worse than I had thought.” The big man complained. When he grimaced, his slave tattoo twisted into an ugly maze, “Those noblemen found some sense somewhere in those layers of fat, and have ordered us to hold off from attacking Selmy or to go in defense of the Clanking slaves, 'We can always make more trebuchets.' the Girl General said. They want Selmy to tire from taking the trebuchets, and wait for him to advance to the camp.”

“How do they expect us to fight from the camp, or do they mean for us to pack it up.”

“I only said some sense, not a lot. The captains have not agreed on a battle plan yet. Caspario said that every time they try, they disagree on almost everything. None of them want their own slaves to die, and will not agree over the order of precedence.”

“Well,” asked Tyrion, “How long before the clanking slaves turn themselves against their masters?”

“I don't think they will.” Mormont said unhappily, “Wobblecheeks gave them a talking to of sorts yesterday. He pointed out the condition of Meereen, bereft of friends, soon to starve and roaming dragons and all that. Even Daeneyrs knew that she couldn't save them, he said, that is why she flew off.” The knight made a fist, “He made a more compelling argument than I care to admit. He claimed that the bloody flux in Astapor was a curse from gods of Ghis against the risen slaves. And if they don’t want to bring the wroth of the harpies down upon them, they had best stay true to their masters.”

“What about the Ghiscari legions, don’t the wise masters want to save their friends? That strength out there is not half of what Selmy still has gotten behind his walls.”

“The Yunkishmen have no friends.” Ser Jorah said with contempt, “They have allies that they do not want to share the plunder they will find in Meereen. How have such people that treat even their allies like this stayed in power is a great mystery to me.”

 _Well, that must be remedied._ Tyrion thought, picking up his shortsword from where it leaned against the tent wall. “No doubt our friends from Tolos and New Ghis will be wondering when reinforcements will come. The least we could do,” He looked the knight in the eye, “is tell them!”

The knight stared at him uncomprehendingly, and just when Tyrion had started wondering if he should explain his meaning in simpler words, he abruptly stood up and left the tent.

Penny gasped, “He has gone to tell them that no help will be coming, isn’t he.”

No, no, no. Tyrion had almost forgotten about Penny. He suddenly remembered his sister once telling him how Ned Stark’s own daughter had spilled her father’s plans to her. Little girls are not capable to hold secrets, and Penny was just that, no matter her age. “I doubt he will go himself.” He said to her, “He has made some friends at the war council, friends whose squires and butt boys are right now running all over the camp, and won’t be missed if one of them went to the battle ground. Maybe he was just overcome with battle lust, Ben will think.” He took her hand in his own, “Don’t worry, Ben will never find out that the message came from us.” He said while looking into her eyes, hoping that she understood. He did not want to threaten her or frighten her. But a flush creeping up her face told him that he did not need to. “Good, now, we had best equip ourselves with all that is needed for running. The battle will be upon us sooner than I first anticipated.”

It was even sooner than that. They had just waited for twenty minutes that the company’s horn sounded. Tyrion hastened out, shortsword in one hand and Penny’s hand in the other. All around them men were running as their serjeants directed. Tyrion heard Penny whimper. At first he just though that it was the screams of pain and pleadings for mercy coming closer to them had frightened her. But when he looked over to the trebuchets, he found the truth. Four of the remaining standing five trebuchets were afire, and the white dragon was firing the last one. “The dragons started firing almost at the same time as when the Tolosi sounded retreat.” Ser Jorah’s voice came. Tyrion looked up, “and the clankers ran?” he asked.

“No,” Ser Jorah said while taking Tyrion and Penny by back of the necks and herding them along with the crowd towards Ben’s tent, where some soldiers were gathering “Ser Barristan had put unsullied in the flanks. When the Tolosi and the Ghiscari legions started retreating, they broke from the phalanx and started pursuing them. That’s them coming towards us.” Tyrion could not see through the forest of bodies that was around him, but he could hear the battle. It sounded like slaughter, only screams, with too few crashes of steel on steel. Once you start to run, you can offer no more fight.

When they reached Brown Ben's tent as last of the serjeants was taking his orders, a fresh commotion was heard from their right. “There is some problem in the sea.” Ser Jorah muttered. He went back the way they had come, beckoned a few serjeants that he saw in the crowd and went off to investigate. Tyrion pulled Penny along. Ben looked at them as they approached, “Good, you are here. Stay with Caspario, and don't get killed. We will be in the rear.” He pointed around to the rest of the soldiers forming. Most of the tents had been dismantled. Tyrion could see the big ones lying on the ground. The Second Sons were forming north of them, five hundred horse for a sortie. “Are we going to be in the van?” Tyrion asked, to no one in perticular.

“We don’t know yet. Unclear orders.” Caspario told him. He was dressed in much finer armor than Tyrion, but the helm had antlers, and that ruined the effect, “We were to strike camp and form up in front of the Girl’s and the Drunkard’s soldiers, but there seems to be some fresh enemies in the sea. We are awaiting fresh instructions.” Ben was trying to look over to the sea. Who could it be? Tyrion wondered. Quartheen and Volantene fleet should still be at sea, and they will not attack the Yunkinsh. He told Ben that Ser Jorah had gone to see what the trouble was.

From here, now that the tents had been dismantled, Tyrion could see the battle. The Company of the Cats had gone to meet the unsullied. They were close enough that Tyrion could feel the dust kicked off from under their mounts settle near his feet. The captain's tent was on a rise, and he could see that Bloodbeard's mounts had broken the Unsullied's shieldwall. They had the little pigeon's men as the rear guard, and did not need much reinforcement. But Tyrion suspected that even if they did, The Second Son's would not go to help them.

Behind them all, the trebuchets were all gone and the clanker slaves were all dead. Meereen's gates were opening, and fresh mounts were pouring forward. This time, the armor of the leader gleamed white. High time for orders, Tyrion thought to himself.

Soon, a Yunkinsh messenger in a yellow tunic mounted on a horse came to them, “I come to you from in the name of Noble Faezhar Zo Faez, who sends his regards to his friend Ben Plumm.” He dropped down from the horse and addressed Ben, ignoring the guards, “You are to go to the coast and throw the enemy that is making port back into the sea. Make haste, the treacherous Pentoshi has turned his cloak and has started attacking those he once called comrades. We want you to create a safe path for the Noblemen of Yunkai to the ships for our retreat. We also require your horses, all of them.”

Tyrion had been so busy observing the battlefield that he had ignored the rest of the camp. Now that he looked, he could see smoke and screams rising from the jungle of tents. The dragons were also hovering over them. Suddenly, a column came out of the camps and made for the Company of Cats. Bloodbeard was going to need those reinforcements now, it seemed.

Ben scratched at his chin while observing Bloodbeard's men taken by surprise at the rear. “Tatters has gone over to Meereen, has he?” he asked the Yunkishman mildly. But the yellow man’s promise of how the treacherous snake will pay for this crime went unheard as the crowd parted for Ser Jorah and his searjents. “It’s Ironmen. There are Krakens in the sea.” He told the onlookers, sounding just as confused as he was making them. But Ben only nodded. “Ser Jorah,” he said, “tell your brothers to dismount and lead them over to the sea. Beckon our ships to come ashore so that they can take you aboard. When you are aboard, kill them.”


	5. Margaery I

Tommen Baratheon and his royal wife took their afternoon meal on eggs and codfish from the Blackwater. It was an energetic affair, as Tommen told Margaery almost everything that had happened in his first ever council session. Before his uncle’s death, Queen Cersei had not allowed Tommen to sit on the council. But when her father had taken over the Red Keep, he had invited the king to attend the council and court. On Margaery’s suggestion of course. She had become tired trying to wheedle out information from her father about what was going outside of Meagor’s Holdfast. Tommen would tell her everything without even prompting.

“They said Roose Bolton tricked the ironmen into attacking uncle Stannis along with them. And other part of his army, the Manderleys from White Harbor, took back the castles they had taken. They were empty now that they had gone for battle.” He explained to her between bites. The news of Stannis’ death had just come in last night, and the entire castle was in celebration. Or as much celebration as you can have in such a tense situation.

Or maybe it was just getting a good news in a bad time had gotten their spirits up. Maybe that was why Tommen was so excited, he was trying not to think about what had happened only a couple of days back. As Margaery watched him go on and on about what Ser Hobber said and what Lord Tarly said, she felt a pang of guilt for using him so. She told herself it was the only thing she had to feel guilty about. The fighting had not been her doing, it was her father’s.

Margaery still remembered how fast her heart had beaten as she had been led from maidenvault to Meagor’s by Virwyl, her father’s captain of guards. Even on the red walls of the holdfast she could see the blood splatters. They had not even finished pulling the corpses yet, but her father had wanted her secured as fast as possible. Ser Kevan’s body had been found by Lord Tarly’s steward, who had gone there to deliver a message to Grand Maester Pycelle, and Lord Mace Tyrell had ordered his men to take over the castle and search for the culprit. This also included disarming the Lannister soldiers in the castle. By the morning, the castle was in Tyrell hands.

What if the imp was getting help from the Lannister soldiers? That was the official reason he had given to the people. But Margaery suspected her father had done it for more than just the sake of duty. He was certainly more happy than one should be in face of death. She could not blame him though. This had put House Tyrells in positions they had not enjoyed in decades. Also, less Lannisters almost meant less madness. Last two years were proof of that.

“Yesterday there was trouble in the city too.” Tommen was telling her. “Between the poor fellows and some gold cloaks. Some poor fellows died. The High Septon was very angry.”

“Why were they killed?” Margaery asked him.

“They were denouncing your father’s name. The gold cloaks told them to stop. But they didn’t listen.”

That was disconcerting. The Tyrells were well loved in the city. Why were these poor fellows against them? “Were they cheering for Aegon?” Did they know another claimant for the Iron Throne had arrived?

“Aegon?” Tommen’s face wrinkled with puzzlement. “Aegon who?”

Before Margaery could explain, the doors opened and her father strode in. “Your Grace.” He bowed in front of Tommen, “I am sorry to disturb you, but it is time.”

“Already?” Tommen asked in dismay. In talking, they had slowed their eating pace, and were now delayed. Margaery put a hand over her husband’s arm, “Do not worry you grace, if the high sparrow complains, we will tell him the king arrives at his own pleasure.”

Even so, they ate faster. Or at least Tommen did. Margaery’s stomach suddenly seemed filled with bile. Even though the trial had been going well, every time she thought of the charges against her, she felt sick. The smallfolk were on her side, yet when she thought about what they must be thinking… They had loved her, adored her. And now they were discussing what went on in her bedchamber.

They left Meagor’s surrounded by gold cloaks. Gold cloaks that had recently been Tyrell men. There were almost no Lannister soldiers left in the gold cloaks anymore. During and after the seizing of the Red Keep, they had died at Lord Tarly’s command. Most anyway, some had gotten wind of what was happening and had gone aground. This had made the gold cloaks virtually Tyrell men. So they had the city as well as the Red Keep. Would that they had the Great Sept of Baelor also.

The high septon had his own soldiers though. Lord Mace, after seizing the castle and the city, had tried to persuade the high septon to forgo the trial. But the threats and offers, veiled or not, had not swayed His High Holiness. He had even gone as far as to present a threat of his own. The killing of the Lannister soldiers in the castle had been one thing, no matter how he knew of it, but the killing of the gold cloaks had been unnecessary. But he was prepared to call it a business of the throne as long as the crown left the trial in his hands. Lord Tarly had advised her father to not listen, that after this, the high septon might ask for the scales of judgement taken from them by Jaehaerys the Conciliator. But her father had relented, fearing a backlash from the common folk if there were fighting between the gold cloaks and the faith.

The trial had started yesterday. Margaery, Alla, Megga and Elinor had had to witness the high septon reading the charges against her to what seemed like the entire city crowded on Visenya’s Hill. The high septon headed a seven judge table, with three women judges. They had then called one accused after the other forward. Ser Hugh Clifton, Ser Mark Mullendor and Ser Bayard Norcross were all knights of her household guard and had told the High Sparrow as much, all denying the accusations. Ser Tallad the Tall had professed his love for Alla and denied any carnal knowledge of herself or any of her cousins. Ser Mark had done the same, only talking about Megga instead of Alla. One day, long enough after the trial, Margaery planned to tease them both about this. Jalabhar Xho had confessed to trying to win the queen’s favor to win back his kingdom in the Red Flower Vale, no more. Lambert Turnberry had called Cersei an old scheming cunt, and throwing down is eye patch, had told the crowd that the charges against Queen Margaery had been planted by her. The crowd had jeered loudly at this, and Margaery had wished that Cersei had been present to see her denouncement.

The real moment of joy in the trial had however been the testimony of the singer Blue Bard. He had been one of the two singers implicated. The other, Hamish the Harper had died of shortness of breath. His only crime had been to sing for the wrong queen, and he had paid for it with his life. Blue Bard himself seemed to be halfway in the arms of the stranger. He who had been young and fair and her favorite now seemed seventy years old. One of his eye was gone. And that one time sweet voice of his had trembled and broken as he had denied and denied the accusations and kept denying them until a bout of madness overcame him. He had started screaming incoherent nonsense at the crowd. He had had to be driven out at spear point at the High Septon’s behest. He had been the only one beside Ser Osney who had confessed to sleeping with Margaery, and he had been declared mad and his testimony had been thrown out of consideration. As for Ser Osney, he had already changed his confession from sleeping with Margaery to sleeping with Cersei, and much else.

Yet they were still not out of the woods. All the men accused of sleeping with the queen had been proclaimed innocent, yet other evidence remained. Evidence stronger than just accusations and misinformation, as the High Septon reminded them at the start of the hearing. The queen was still to be tried for the false claims she had made about her maidenhead, for performing the ritual of Maiden’s Day even though she was not a maiden, and for her alleged drinking of moon tea “None of the people yet tried have been convicted guilty, but still the drinking of moon tea indicates the queen had another lover.” He told the crowd.

Today, as yesterday, the sept was filled to the brink. People stood along the walls, eager to gather fodder for gossip. There were commoners as well as noblemen, all looking her. The judges sat in front of the altar of the father behind a wooden bench, with the High Septon in the middle. In front of them, in a clearing ringed by the gold cloaks, stood Margaery, feeling as if the whole realm was watching her. She took a deep breath, and asked the High Sparrow to repeat the charges against her. It was time to repair the damages done by Cersei.

“Let us start with the absence of your maidenhead.” The High Septon said, “Your Grace swore before the court and then before the holy septons and septas that your maidenhead was intact, that Lord Renly had been too drunk to perform his duty as a husband the night of your first wedding. Your words were clearly false, and if Lord Renly did not take your Maidenhead, someone else must have, and that would make it treason. The realm must know the truth of this matter.”

“And so it shall.” Margaery replied, her head held high. “I falsely swore before the faith that my maidenhead was intact, that is true, but that was only because the High Septon before you had assured me he would absolve me of the crime later.”

A silence fell in the hall. “My predecessor asked you to swear a false oath?” Incredulity could be heard in the High Sparrow's voice.

“Your High Holiness must see how things stood back then." She said in a Placating voice, "The realm was at war. Traitors roamed the kingdom and good men and brave knights did know which side were traitors and which were not. The king's hand felt telling the world that my maidenhead was intact was a necessary lie to tell for the good of the realm.”

“The kings hand? Tyrion Lannister?”

“He was the hand then. Yes him.”

“Tyrion Lannister is a traitor himself.”

“We did not know that back then Your High Holiness. After his arrest though, me and my father went to Lord Tywin to set the matter before him. While he said that swearing a false oath had been wrong, there was nothing to be done for it. He told us to keep these truths to ourselves, because he did not feel we were guilty of anything. He said the guilt of this falsehood belonged to Tyrion Lannister and apologized for his son’s mistakes.”

The hall around her started buzzing, and Margaery had a great urge to smile. Suddenly, she did not know why she had been so afraid. The High Septon seemed to be groping for words. “Lord Tywin is dead” he said flatly. “And you performed the rituals of the Maiden’s Day at the command of my predecessor?”

“Yes, he said that if we had to lie for the good of the realm, we had best take the lie to its fullest.”

“There is still the matter of the moon tea.” One of the women judges of the party said.

“The Moon Tea.” Margaery frowned. Yes, the moon tea. The one other thing besides the septas that had stolen her sleep when she had been in that horrible cell.  Yet, now, even this was easy, “May I ask if it is true that the Grand Maester Pycell told the whole court that I had drunk the moon tea not once but many times?”

“Yes it is true.”

“Then I can only pray that the Father above will forgive him for lying about a queen. Because I have never drunk of moon tea since setting foot in King’s Landing, this I swear. I did drink moon tea when I was married to Lord Renly, but never after that. And even if I had taken moon tea from the venerable Grand Maester, which I did not, was he not sworn to keep it between him and myself. A maester swears to keep his master’s secrets, I remind you. It is a shame that the maester died,” Margaery paused in which she hoped was a pregnant pause, “before we could look into the matter more closely.”

The rest was an uproar. The high septon called for a recess for deliberation even before the gold cloaks restored order. Margaery went to the side to where her father was standing. “That went fast.” Lord Mace said with a smile. She could not help herself but hug him. It was only when she disengaged that she saw Tommen was not there.

“He went to the mud gate.” Her father told her. “There was a messenger. Princess Myrcella has arrived. The trial was going well, so I told him he should go and receive her. Lord Tarly went with him.”

“They were supposed to arrive two days from now.”

“I suppose they hastened their arrival. Sellswords are roaming in the Kingswood. The last we heard, they were marching towards Storm’s End.” He ruffled his daughter’s hair, “But don’t you worry about that. What matters most is that you are safe.”

Margaery smiled at him, to stop a frown from coming to her face. It was frustrating, how he treated her like a child. Was this what happened to Cersei? Did she turn into a scheming bitch because men in her life were patronizing and condescending? But no, Margaery would never turn into Cersei.

Soon, the high septon came back. He stood before his bench and called Margaery forward. Margaery went to him and knelt before him, her head bowed. He placed a hand over her head. “The faith, after due consideration to all the testimonies and evidence, has found Queen Margaery, innocent of all charges laid against.” He raised his voice against the cheers that echoed in the hall, “All the men accused of treason are to be released, as well are her cousins. May the crone set them on their path again.” To Margaery he said, “You may rise child.”

When she did, there were tears in her eyes. The gold cloaks began to clear the sept. She felt her father’s hands around her as he came and thanked the high septon.

“There is no need to thank me. All justice flows from The Father above. I am only here to see everyone gets a fair trial. It was a pity I couldn’t give one to the Grand Maester.”

“We will catch the culprit soon enough, your high holiness.” Lord Mace said, “Like as not, it will turn out to be the Imp.”

“If you say so. Though, I find it hard to fathom why he will murder the Grand Maester. Ser Kevan I can understand. Revenge, but what would he gain by killing the Grand Maester? What would anyone gain by the Grand Maester’s death?” He bowed to them and took their leave.

“That man is impossible to please.” Cursed her father. Margaery’s smile had vanished. “I apologize father, I only meant to implicate Cersei…”

“Don’t fret child. He is a no one. He pronounced you innocent, and lost his leverage. He cannot do anything to you anymore.”

That was true. And as Margaery’s cousins surrounded her, Margaery forgot all about him as they cheered and laughed. The ride back was a lot better than the ride coming here. The people of the city cheered her as she scattered golden dragons across the crowd. They still love me, she thought giddily. Cersei has failed.

The atmosphere inside the Red Keep was as different as could be, however. Their queen was free and their princess had returned, yet there was a tension in the air. They understood the reason soon enough. The maimed princess had brought a dornish retinue with her, containing their new master of laws.

Lord Tarly came to her chambers to catch her father. He had gone to receive Myrcella with Tommen and Cersei. He proceeded to tell them about the dornish party. “She has the viper’s own squire, that Daemon Sand as her shield and has brought fifty dornish spearmen from the the shadow city. The heir of house Fowler and her twin are among her lady companions. And Qyburn just reported to me that her sister, another Sand fathered by Prince Oberyn has joined the swords under the faith this morning.”

Her father seemed not to be listening. “A basterd women, daughter of that snake, on my council.” He fumed. Lord Mace Tyrell thought that women were made only for ballrooms and kitchens, “And at this time too. Was Ser Kevan out of his mind?”

“Ser Kevan could not know of his demise, and of the subsequent fighting.” Lord Tarly pointed out. “We need to be careful with this one my lord. She was behaving as if she almost wanted to pick a fight, asking Cersei if there were any truth in the rumors that she was not allowed to wear any clothes in the Red Keep any more.”

“Poking a fallen lioness is hardly dangerous.” Margaery said, “She may just have been taking advantage of the opportunity. If she hates the Lannisters, it could be useful to us.”

“She loves us no more than them. She is half a Martell. She was telling Tommen they were expecting a letter in Dorne about Myrcella’s accession to the Throne after Joffery died.” When her father and she alike looked at him in confusion, he explained, “Under Dornish law, sister may come before the brother if she is the elder. And Myrcella was in Dorne at the time.”

“That borders on treason. Who does this women think she is?” Her father was so angry he was almost shaking.

“Someone who could give the newest claimant to the Iron throne their support if Dorne was offended in any way.” Lord Tarly said with anger in his own voice, “She hinted to this, the nerve of her, right after telling me that the fake Aegon has killed Mathis Rowan and taken Storm’s End from Stannis’ castellan.”


	6. Alayne I

The sunlight flashed from the armor of the knights as they circled each other. Their swords clashed amidst cheers from the crowd. The knight with bells on his shield was Wallace Belmore, a nephew to Lord Benedar Belmore of Strongsong. The knight with the red and white diamonds quartered with the moon of the Arryn’s was Alayne’s betrothed, Ser Harrold Hardyng. The moon was in honor of his mother, he had told her, symbolizing his relation to the Arryns. The way he had said it made Alayne think he was anticipating the arrival of the falcon on his shield any minute now.

Both were newly made knights, but the Song of Strongsong had seen battle, and was proving heavy weight for the Young Falcon. Ser Wallace had boasted that the name came from the song his sword had sung as it killed four mountain clansmen, while Myranda said that it came from his high pitched girlish wail of a battle charge as he had charged into the hills for battle.

On the yard he looked anything but girlish though. He towered over Ser Harrold, and made use of the height as he launched a flurry of attacks on Harry. My poor champion, Alayne thought, as she watched him take a pounding on his shield. This was a mock meele of sorts, for Ser Harry had shouted his intention of defending his betrothed’s honor, who Belmore had not even challenged, against the Song of Strongsong. I am going to lose my honor. But even as she watched, Ser Harrold let he shield slip from his hands as a heavy blow from the towering knight landed upon it. He had not strapped his shield on his arm. This made Ser Wallace lose balance, and after a few kicks and slashes, lose the fight.

“Well fought, my lord.” She said to him a when he came to her and sketched a mock bow, “Ser Wallace is knocked senseless, again.”

A spasm of anger flashed across the grinning face, or so Alayne thought. “I was getting sick of all his stories.” He said to her, grinning even more widely, “I will tell Maester Coleman not to wake him up soon.” She assured him.      

“I fear I must take your leave now, my lady. Lady Anya wants me to come and hear more of Lord Belmore’s boastings of the raids, er, more of his trade plans. Will I see you at supper?”

“If it pleases my lord, I do like to eat my supper every night.”

“Well, if you decide to do it again tonight, will you sit beside me?” Harry pleaded with her, making her giggle. “If you insist.”

“Please my lady, I won’t be able to eat a bite without you.” He pleaded with her again.

“I said I will.”

He cast his eyes down, “Fine, if you want me to starve.”

Giggling, Alayne assured him she didn’t, and took her leave, saying she had to see to the preparations of the said supper. Ser Harry left to get out of his armor. She had spent much of her day with him, and now it was time to attend to her duties.

In the kitchens, the supper was just starting to be prepared. Myranda had just come to check on it as well. “How did your falcon fly?” She teased her.

Alayne blushed. Ser Harry had gifted her a falcon hatchling on his arrival, along with a big bouquet of valley flowers, “Every flower I saw, I plucked for you, the fairest of them all.” Receiving the gifts in front of everybody had left Alayne blushing, but then Ser Harold had started spending so much time with her that Myranda had dubbed him her new falcon, instead of the hatchling. “Ser Wallace is dreaming of his song again. Harry knocked him senseless.”

“Poor boy. If he did not have all those pimples, I myself would go look after him. Gods know, women like me won’t get many opportunities to have such knights for ourselves. Not with you stealing them.”

She is just teasing, Alayne told herself, blushing. But she could hear the jealousy as well. Petyr had told her this will happen. Ser Harry was the heir to the Vale, and many a highborn maids had a better claim than some bastard girl. She smiled at Myranda, “If you want to secure Ser Wallace, he is with Maester Coleman.”

“I would rather secure Maester Coleman.” Myranda Royce said, then looked up as if considering what she had just said. “Ugh, no I won’t”, she said as she and Alayne broke into a fit of laughter. “Come, my father wants us to check the animals in the kennels.” She told Alayne after they had stopped laughing.

The animals in the kennels consisted of three wolves, five wild bloodhounds and two deer. In the kennels, they also found Ser Morgarth. “Just marked the bloodhound. Bit poor Ossifer bad, he did. He will be good hunt tomorrow” He told them.

“Why do we have a map of the forest?” Alayne asked him, nodding to the piece of paper in his hand.

“What, this. ‘tis for the traps we put. Byron made it. He can write.” He told them shaking his head.

The animals were for the hunt Lord Petyr was going to arrange tomorrow. The ten animals will be marked with a cloth around their midsection, then let loose in the valley. Giving them some head start, four or five hunting teams will then try to bring them back. The team that will bring the most back in three days’ time will win a prize. It was supposed to be a celebration for the betrothal, and the sons and grandson of Lady Waynwood, Ser Harry, and Lord Belmore and his nephew, and Lord Nestor and his son were the participants.

Seeing that the animals were marked, Alayne asked Ser Morgarth to please feed the animals. Her father had had his new knights hunt for them for the past week with Old Oswald. She had never heard of such a hunting game before, and Petyr said it was probably the first in the Seven Kingdoms. A sailor from Yi Ti had told him of such a game being played there. Ser Harry liked it. Alayne was glad for that. And even more glad that he liked her. _I won him over Father._

It had not taken much on her part, she thought, as she made her way to her father’s solar. Ser Harrold, after asking her to call him Harry, had told her that he had fallen in love with her even as Lady Anya had described her to him. Lady Anya had descended on the Gates of Moon with her three sons and a grandson three days past. Ser Harry had come with them. All the next three days he had spent with her. The first day he took her horseback riding through the woods. Racing her through the hills and teasing her when she lost. He had asked her if she liked riding horses, and she had said yes, for it was clearly the answer he had been hoping for. He then made her regret it by teaching her how to ride better and faster for the whole afternoon and halfway through the evening. By the time they came back, her back was aching and her thighs were chafed raw. But the smile she wore was no longer marred with nervousness, and did not leave her all night.

Since then they had spent almost all of their time together. He liked to read history, and he playacted passages from Maester Munken’s Dance of Dragons for her and little Lord Robert. Today morning, he had taken them both of them with him when they went to check one of the traps that had caught a fox. The fox had bled to death, and was useless for the hunt, so, after returning, he had taught them how to make a neckless of his teeth.  When Robert had asked him where he learned that, he claimed that Clarris had taught him that. She was the mother of his second bastard, though he did not say that in front of Alayne.

When she reached Petyr’s solar, she found him putting finishing letters, as always. “The animals are all ready for tomorrow father. Ser Morgarth’s feeding them now.” She told him. He kept writing, “I hope for your sake he does not feed them too much.”

“For my sake?” Alayne was puzzled.

Petyr put down the quill, “Your beloved betrothed has asked my permission to let you accompany him tomorrow.” He looked at her, his expressions betraying nothing. “I told him to ask you, but from what I’ve seen of you two, you won’t say no to him.”

Alayne hesitated. “Do you want me to say no?”

“I just want to make sure you know when to say no. Ladies go hawking all time, a hunt shouldn’t be too scandalous. What would be scandalous would be if the Lord Protector’s bastard daughter were to become large with a baby, especially if her betrothal is later cancelled.”

Alayne stared at him, “large with a baby? What do you mean?”

Petyr yawned and stretched his arms overhead, “Don’t you think the boy is too eager to woo you? You are a pretty girl, but still. He was fostered at Ironoaks, but he views Yohn Royce as a father figure. You were the reason Bronze Yohn’s isolated right now. If you were to get pregnant, by consent or by force, you may end up losing your value as a bargaining chip. A bastard with a bastard in her belly, or so he would think.”

“You really think he would do that? Take me by force? Maybe tomorrow?”

“You were in the yard when he knocked Wallace Belmore out, weren’t you?”

“Yes, he seemed angry with him. Why?”

“That Cissy, the mother of his first bastard, she is a stablehand at Runstone, but she hails from the Moon Brothers. Belmore led his knights against them, as you know, and I suspect poor Cissy must be orphaned.”  
The mountain clans had become more dangerous since their chiefs had returned from Kings Landing. They had steel now, and were an increasing menace for the villagers in the face of the oncoming winter. Lord Petyr had brokered a deal of grains between the Freys and Lord Belmore and Lady Anya. Lord Belmore’s knights had ridden against the mountain clans to create a safe passage for the wagons. It was in these raids that Wallace Belmore had earned his spurs for killing four clansmen before being knocked senseless. Alayne had indeed known that. She had not known about Cissy. “Do you, do you think he still loves her?”

“Not necessarily. I’m just saying that the boy has more layers than are outwardly apparent, and he is a fool. You only had to see Belmore squirm through the meeting today.” He got up from the table and came towards her. “I have no doubt you will fend him off if he tries to do something. Or he won’t even do anything, and my speculations are false. But there is nothing wrong with taking precautions.” He took his dagger from his belt and offered it to her. “See the way it glitters in the candlelight? The blade is valyrian steel. Make sure the boy sees it as you are cutting your meat tonight at supper. That should make him more wary tomorrow.”

The next day the left early, without even breaking their fast. Alayne said her farewell to little Robert, and Harry asked him to wish them luck. Alayne could see that he did not like Harry’s presence right now. _He probably wants to ask me to stay._ She followed Harry out.

The morning was crisp and cool. The autumn leaves crunched under the horse’s feet as their party made its way to the glassy meadow. The opening on the valley floor was named thus for a small lake in the middle. Here they stopped and unloaded the wagons. Twenty of Petyr’s men then went with ten cages in all directions as the others got down from the horses to break their fast. The animals were to be released from predetermined positions roughly in a circle a half an hour’s distance from the meadow. After breaking their fast, the teams drew up their mounts in the direction they would proceed. Two of Petyr’s men at arms accompanied each team. The two Waynwoods, Ser Donnel and Ser Patrek, with their squires would lead two teams, one north and one west. Ser Wallace and his squire would try south-west. Lord Nestor had Robert’s squires Gyles and Terrence with him, and will go east. Wyl Waynwood squired for Ser Harry, and Alayne will go with them due south east. Old Lucas and Ser Shadrich, who called himself the mad mouse, were accompanying them. Petyr himself would be going back to the Gates of the Moon with the remaining two men at arms.

The afternoon grew late as they trudged on. Fifty year old Lucas led the way, clearing the branches for the party to pass through. Behind him, Ser Shadrich rode with young Wyl. Wyl was a grandson of Lady Waywood, Son of Ser Patrek Waywood. He was three years younger Ser Harry, and had started squiring for him when Ser Harry had earned his spurs. Behind them both came Alayne and Harry. Each mount except Alayne’s carried a spear, a bow and quiver, and a longsword. Alayne herself had a crossbow hanging by the saddle, while Petyr’s knife poked out from a pocket her leather trousers.

They sighted their first prey about four hours after they had set off from the meadow. By the third hour Alayne had grown restless. Old Lucas had an eye for animal tracks, and was following the deer’s footprints. This had left Harry only looking around. So, seeing Alayne bored, he started regaling her with the tales of the heroes House Hardyng had produced in the past. He told her of a knight that had battled five of a maid’s brothers in a melee to win her hand for marriage. He told her of Ser Humphrey Hardyng, who had battled in the last trial of seven in Westeros. He told her how his great-great grandfather had saved Lord Waynwood’s heir in the battle of redgrass field. Hearing the tales, Wyl had drawn alongside them, and supplied them with tales of own forbearers. But both of the fell silent when Lucas lifted his hand. Silently they dismounted. All except Alayne.

They were on a swell of the land. Around, the woods grew thick. But beyond the rise, a plane grassland stretched till the ground swelled again and gave way to a hill. There, in that grassy plane, the deer grazed, the cloth around his belly marking him for the hunt. Crouching, the men waited to see if the deer had heard them. It had not. It grazed oblivious to the hunters.

At Ser Harold’s signal, Wyl handed his bow to him. Ser Harry nocked an arrow and drew. But before he could shoot, the deer’s ears perked up. “There’s a panther!” Lucas hissed even as Harry’s arrow flew. The deer bolted, but staggered as the arrow embedded itself in its hip. A black shadow ran after it. The panther managed maybe three bounds when Harry’s arrow took it in the neck. Ser Shadrich, Lucas and Wyl were already mounted and bounding after the deer as it limped across the grass in panic. Ser Harry nocked another arrow and soon the panther was twitching on the ground. Ser Harry retied his bow to his saddle and mounted his horse. “Quick, quick.” Squealed Alayne, excitement coursing through her. She raced along the way the others had gone, with Harry close behind.

The deer was wounded, but it still had given the Mad Mouse and his companions a chase. They had gone along the foot of the hill, and disappeared through the forest. Ser Harry bid Alayne to stop. “If we stop, we may hear them.” He was right, and soon they were racing north, Alayne laughing and shouting with Ser Harry.

All their excitement left them when they came upon the deer and its hunters.

The deer lay near a huge Oak tree, its leg broken and two arrows sprouting from its belly and rump. Near him sprawled Lucas, an arrow poked through his skull. Wyl was further away, still on his horse. Unmoving, he fell to the ground before Alayne. He had a spear through his stomach.

Ser Shadrich had his longsword in his hands. “Go back,” he hissed at them, “There are clansmen in the woods.”

Alayne was too shocked to do anything. Clansmen? So near the Gates of the Moon? Ser Harry grabbed her reins and wheeled their mounts around. “Crouch. Hug your horse.” He whispered to her. Alayne couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded and bent down.

Ser Harry took his bow from the saddle and started surveying the woods. Alayne nudged her horse forward, trying not to whimper. A noise from behind startled her, and she glanced back. But it was only Ser Shadrich coming towards them, eying the woods. _Wait, where was his spear?_

Alayne bulled her horse into the older knight’s horse as he raised sword behind Ser Harry. Her push made him miss his mark, and instead of opening Harold’s ribs from end to end, the blow only made a gash in his side. She never heard him scream over the sound of the horses. _Please fall, please fall._ She prayed, but Ser Shaldrich remained ahorse, and managed to push Alayne off balance.

When she regained her balance, Alayne wheeled her horse to see the two knights exchanging blows. “Why?” She heard Harry snarl at the Mad Mouse, but the older knight only pressed harder. “Stop” Alayne screamed. No one paid her any heed. Ser Harry’s side was red with blood, and some was beginning to drip on the ground. He could never win in this condition. “Run, Harry, run.” She shouted at him. But the horses continued to circle each other.

The crossbow might hit Ser Harry. Alayne guided her mount near the battling knights. The horse was afraid, and it was all Alayne could do to bend it to her will. She heard Ser Harold cry out in pain. There was blood welling from his thing. She took out her dagger and jumped onto Ser Shadrich’s horse.

The two of them went down, but Ser Shaldrich dragged Harry down with him. When they were on the ground, Ser Harry was not moving.

Alayne felt Ser Shaldrich grab the dagger in her hands and twist her arm. She cried out in pain and dropped her dagger. Ser Shaldrich stood up. When Alayne tried to get up, he kicked her in the ribs and sent her sprawling. “The wolf’s got some claws on her.” He said. His words made her forget about her pain.

She rolled on to her back. “What?”

Ser Shaldrich was inspecting a gash on his left arm where the valyrian blade had cut him. “Little bitch” he muttered.

Alayne got to her feet. “Don’t try to run.” He warned her. “Don’t make this harder upon yourself.” He raised his sword in her direction.

“You don’t have to do this.” Sansa said to him, her voice trembling.        

“I do actually.” Ser Shaldrich smiled at her as if smiling at an adorable child, “Your so called father pays good coin, but the queen will pay better.”

The queen. A terrible fear gripped Sansa’ heart. He knows. He knows about me. “You can’t…” Please, you can’t take me back there!

“I can. So just come here and let me secure you. Don’t make me hurt you.”

Instead, she took a step backwards. “My f..father, he will find you. If not him, the clansmen will. You will not be able to leave the Vale.”

“Have no fear.” He laughed. “Most of the wildlings in this part of the mountains are dead. And Lord Petyr will not be able to find anybody, I assure you. He will be coming with us.”

“What…?” she was having trouble breating.

“You think I am alone in this? No. Soon, Morgarth and Byron will kill Littlefinger’s guards and take him prisoner. We mean to use the path that Belmore’s so kindly cleared for us so we don’t encounter many clansmen”

“Lord Nestor will look for them” She took one more step backward as he slowly advanced towards her, his sword raised. Maybe he thought she had more daggers.

“Lord Nestor won’t return to the castle till two days later. And even if he leads the searches himself, he will stop once he finds Littlefinger’s body.”

They mean to kill him. Of course, they needed only Sansa Stark, not Littlefinger. “They will search for the men who killed him.”

“They will thank the men who killed him. We have thought of everything.” He looked overhead, where the sun was listing to the west, “You see, before the sun sets today, Oswald will go to the Little Lord’s chamber to deliver his milk, laced with a draught of sweetsleep. A big one.” He grinned, stepping over Ser Harry’s body

“Oswald?”

“Yes. It was him that told us three of your real identity. Oh, we had our suspicions. In fact, that was why we approached Littlefinger and asked to be let in his service. Morgarth, Byron and I met in gulltown and found we were all looking for you.” He smiled at her again. “And we had heard of Littlefinger’s new daughter. Queer how he would produce a daughter just after a certain girl vanished from the Red Keep. You had us fooled though, but…”

“Oswald betrayed him.” She breathed. He had been on the boat that brought Sansa Stark to the fingers. He had been on the Merling King. “You would kill a little boy?” Who could be that monstrous?

“A sick little boy. A wretched life for a lord, don’t you think.” He gave a sad shake of the head “You can’t blame the old man, though. The queen’s uncle has put all three of his sons in the dungeons to await death. Old Oswald just wanted to trade your life for theirs, and little Robert’s. He couldn’t do it alone though, and so he enlisted our help.” He shrugged. “He can’t come anymore though, the hound bit bad him last night. But Byron told us that you were coming with us on the hunt, and a chance as good as today may not come again. Oswald had us each swear upon the seven before he agreed to poison little Robert. He will resist arrest long enough to blame it all on Littlefinger, and then make sure to get killed.”

Sansa took a step sideways, to look for her dagger. She could have sworn it was just beside Ser Harry, but could not find it. I have to keep him talking. “Ser Byron is still at the castle, Ser Morgarth won’t be able to kill Petyr’s guards alone. Mord will have a confession out of both of them.”

Ser Shaldrich dismissed her concerns with the wave of a hand, “When Oswald gets caught, Byron will slip out the gate in the confusion and get to Littlefinger. We have the meeting points already determined, all that time we were mapping…”

Ser Shaldrich never finished the sentence. Ser Harry had leapt to his feet, Sansa’s dagger in his hand. In a blink there was a gash across the Mad Mouse’s throat. He collapsed to his knees, his hands groping at his throat.

It all happened so quickly Sansa could not even flinch. Now she rushed towards her betrothed. Or who had been her betrothed, “Harry!”

“Lady Sansa,” he fell into her arms. His voice barely audible, “Thank… Thank you for the knife.”

He was too heavy. She laid him on the ground. He still bleeding from his side. She helped him take of his leather jacket, and tied it around his chest, trying to stop the blood. His hand groped for her neck. He pulled her closer, her hair falling all over his face. “Leave me. You… you must go back.” Tears were making it hard to see. Alayne wiped a bloody forearm over her face, “Save Lord Robert!”. Harry’s eyes closed.

It took her ten minutes to get Harry onto his horse. He was still unconscious, so she draped him on the back of the horse and secured him. Moving like a sleeping person, she tied the reins of Harry’s horse to her own saddle. Poor Robert. Poor Petyr. It was all she could do to not collapse weeping. When she mounted and kicked her horse into motion, all she could think of was the possibility of meeting Ser Byron in the way.


	7. Sam I

The book was beautifully illustrated. There was no color, yet the shades gave color to the clouds and the sky, the fields and the grassy plains, where an army in a crescent formation descended upon a surprised camp. Maester Tobias had a skill in capturing even the smallest detail in the figure. The book chronicled battles fought in the Reach after the conquest. It was from this book that Sam was copying his maps of the Reach as practice for drawing of maps. After this exercise, he would turn to Maester Larry’s Maps and Geography. That book contained descriptions of land from which students of geography were to construct maps.

When he finished, Sam spread the leather parchment on which he had drawn his map on the table. The brown paper covered half of the table. Beside it, he placed Maester Tobias’s drawing of the west coast of the Reach, from the Shields to the Whispering Sound. Sam’s map was five times bigger than the one in the books, and he had finally gotten the right distances increased five times. Blackcrown was farther from Oldtown than it should be, Sam saw, but this map was a great improvement on his previous attempt of the map of the Vale.

 _I could update this map,_ Sam thought. He got up from his chair and went to the shelf behind him. He returned with a red diary in his hand. The bound notebook was his news journal. He was practicing keeping track of the news that Archmaester Gormon received from his ravens. He opened his diary, and regretted it as his eyes fell on the last entry.

_Stannis Baratheon killed in seven days of battle three days from Winterfell by Ramsay Bolton with the help of Dagmar Cleftjaw of the Ironmen. From Winterfell, Maester Henly in service of Lord Slate._

Archmaester Walgrave had died in his sleep the last week, and Maester Gormon had taken his place beneath the iron mask. He had let Pate go of his duties of the assistant, and instead had taken Sam on. Sam had been happy for the appointment, though he felt a little guilty for stealing Pate’s place as once he had stolen Chett’s at the wall. But the job meant he would get all the news from the seven kingdoms that came to Oldtown, for now it was Gormon who cared for the citadel’s ravens. Sam could now keep an eye for the news from the north, or east. Though he wished it had not been this news.

His feelings must have had shown on his face when Gormon had told him of the news last afternoon. "Look at me boy!" he had said sharply, "I know Stannis came to the aid of the watch, but that did not make you his people." Then, more gently, "I know Sam, the lords the maesters serve often die. Do not let this affect you the wrong way. A maester is bound to his post, not to a lord. Lords die, the post doesn't. Do you understand me?"

Sam had nodded, wanting to say that it was Gormon who did not understand. The ravens were not his only source of information about the world. For a month, Sam had been gazing at the candle that was present in Archmaester Marwyn’s old room. And for some time now he had started seeing things. An army, descending upon Oldtown. A girl throwing herself from the walls of Highgarden to her death. A city burning as a lord brooded in a castle. A man mounted on a great flying beast with a flaming sword in hand. Sam had taken this to mean that Stannis was the Azor Ahai, but if he was dead, then who could that be? Maester Aemon had believed Daenerys Targareyn to be Azor Ahai, but Sam was sure he had seen a man atop the dragon.

Sam realized that he was just staring at the map for a whole minute. With a sigh, he turned his attention to the older news. The journal contained all the news that Gormon received. It spoke of the twin trials, as the trials of Queen Cersei and Queen Margaery were being called. Of the Golden Company’s invasion of the Stormlands, of the Slave Revolts in Meereen and smaller ones in Norvos. But Sam looked for news from closer lands. He meant to update the map of the Ironmen’s positions. In the time of battle, this would prove useful guide. Not that anybody would consult Sam’s map.

He sat down and shaded the Shields grey. The Ironmen held them even now. They did not hold much else though, just a few keeps on the coast. So Sam instead started marking all the keeps and villages they had raided. Bandallion and Fisher’s Keep were first off the list. The Ironmen had also tried to take Old Oak, but had been repulsed, so Sam left it out. The Ironmen held the Blackcrown right now, but they would not for long. Ser Gunthor Hightower had taken his father’s guard and the city watch to whisk them out. Sam marked it as merely raided.

A commotion outside called his attention. When he opened the door of his room, he saw Pate rushing up the steps outside, with Roone and Dennis. “Ironmen.” they told him.

Dumping the quill in his hand on the shelf beside the door, Sam ran after him. They went up the steps, past Gormon’s Solar. Just before reaching the terrace, they came upon Gormon. Gormon gave Pate a dark look, but addressed only Sam, “Quick, bring my new farseer.” He turned on his heels and went back up.

Huffing, Sam went to Gormon’s solar. His rooms were just above Sam’s, who had exchanged rooms with Pate after taking his new job. The farseer Gormon wanted lay in a cabinet beneath the table near the window. It was a new purchase from a Myrish Galley. It comprised of two tubes cunningly fit together to slide into each other, each fitted with a magnifying lens. Taking it from a cabinate, Sam made for the terrece, and found Archmaesters Valleyn and Erbose with Gormon and a few novices and acolytes, each having an eye attached to their own farseer. Sam turned north, where they all were looking, and nearly wet himself.

Beyond the walls of Oldtown an army was gathering!

But no, he thought with relief, not the army I saw attacking Oldtown. That had been a mounted force, their lances and spears flashing in the sunlight as they rode through the open gates. This was a force of ironmen and they had no horses, they came here on ships.

As soon as he realised this, Sam looked around wildly, looking for Hightower ships. The rookery of the citadle was its tallest structure, and on a notrmal day, you could see not the ships in the far distance but the tops of their masts and sails. Baelor Brightsmile had been building warships, but today Sam saw nothing save a listing sail or two. Sunk! He thought despairing. There was no smoke, which ruled out burning. Sam had heard how Euron Grayjoy had burned the fleet at Lannisport when Balon Grayjoy had first crowned himself. But sinking required more pesonal attention. Sam knew what this meant, Ironmen in the city!

Gormon had come to the same conclusion, he was arguing heatedly with Vinegar Vaellyn, "that fool Garth took most of his father's swords to Brightwater Keep, and Gunthor has gone to Blackcrown."

"That was clearly a feint." Ebrose seemed a deal calmer than his surroundings, observing the skirmishes at the walls. "I do not believe this, they can't even be two thousand, do they plan to put us under seige with that?"

"They must know Gunther would have seen them entering the whispering sound." Gormon insisted, "No, this is something else, this is a feint."

"The raid at Blackcrown, that was the feint." Ebrose replied firmly, "This is the thrust, and it is folly." He turned towards them, snapping the farseer shut. "You will see, this rabble will be destroyed on the morrow."

They didn't have to wait till the morrow though. As Sam stepped onto the rookery terrace that evening, Ser Gunthor was leading his horse toward the ironmen. The ironmen were turning toward their ships. They will escape, Sam thought watching, but at least the siege had been ineffective. A cheer went up as the guards were seen assembling at the gates to take any straggler ironmen in the rear, and as he was watching them, Sam suddenly realized what he was seeing...., there were no ironmen on the ground anymore, just the open gates and a mounted force. And with growing terror, Sam watched as the mounted force, their lances and spears flashing in the sunlight, rode unopposed through the city gates. Even from across the town, he could hear the surprised shouts and curses, and the ringing of swords.

The fighting went well into the night. Ser Gunthor Hightower was one the first to be slain, an arrow through his gorget as he was mercilessly butchering his own people. Two hours into the fight a sodier was captured. He was still biting and kicking in his bounds as they brought him into the citadel. Sam could see a crowd gathering around him and was thankful that Archmaester wylde was summoned to examine him and not Gormon, sparing Sam from the need to go near.

Wylde sat under the valyrian mask in Marwyn’s stead, and had been summoned to discern the cause that had driven Ser Gunthor and his men against his own people. Out on the sea, the ironmen had returned, this time in a greater force and were coming through the city gates unopposed, the guards had been driven further into the city. They were fighting inside the city now, smoke rising from various buildings as they were set afire, ironborn raiding in the wake of the fighting as the ring of fight pushed inside toward the Hightower castle and the citadel. People had fled to the castle for refuge, and to the citadel, and the Starry Sept where they were praying to the gods to free the soldiers from whatever sorcery the ironmen had inflicted upon them. So it came as a shock when Maester Wylde diagnosed the captured soldier to be poisoned by basilisk blood.

Sweet and deadly, Sam knew that Basilisk blood produced violent madness, filling the consumer with courage and strength. They will not stop, he thought looking at the Hightower soldiers fighting their own comrades, only death is the cure for basilisk blood. "It was a feint" Gormon hissed, "that mummers farce of a seige, that was the feint and this is the thrust." Sam could only nod as he watched the ironmen plunder Oldtown as they pleased.

That night Sam scarcely slept. He had to assist in treating the wounded as they were brought in. Thousands of Oldtown's citizen's had crowded into the citadel to escape the raiding. By midnight, only the citadel itself and Hightower's castle remained free. The Starry Sept had fallen and had been put to torch, the statues of the Seven put to the sea one by one as offerings by the ironmen to their drowned god. Most of Ser Gunthor's party was dead, along with Ser Gunthor himself. Archmaester Gormon had dispatched a bird to Ser Garlan at Brightwater Keep, but he would need atleast two days to reach Oldtown. Till then, the ironmen were free to raid Oldtown. Most of the guards now had reassembled on the walls of the citadel, throwing back the ironmen whenever they tried to attack the citadel, but that was not often. The Ironmen did not seem to want to take the citadel or the castle. . Alleras assured Sam that even if they did, the citadel will not fall, but still Sam feared.

When dawn broke, Sam shuffeled towards his room, aching and yawning, desperate to sleep after a night of hearing moaning of wounded men and women. It was when he passed the door to Archmaester Gormon's solar that something struck him as queer. The room was dimly lit by a single candle and the maester sat in his chair staring out of his window toward the sun rising behind the clouds. When Sam went in, the maester turned his gaze onto him, his hands in his lap, "it was a feint." He whispered, "It was a feint, and now the thrust."

Sam was worried, had the archmaester's wits been run of by the horror happening in the city? "Yes I know, the siege was a feint, are you okay?"

Gormon gripped Sam's arm "No, not the siege, the raid." He insisted, his voice barely a croak. And now Sam saw with horror the blood on the maester's hand. "The raid was a feint, and now the thrust." His other hand dropped from his lap, revealing a dagger buried inside his groin, "He went to take the candles and the book, The Death of The Dragons and…" His eyes were glassy with the shock at his own words, "and the candles, that pig boy... he has taken them." He slid to the ground, and was dead before he hit the ground.


	8. Jon I

“So, the crows were telling it true.” Grimaced Tormund Giantsbane as he climbed off his horse, “The night’s watch is being led by a wight.”

Is that what they are saying? “I am no more a wight than you, Tormund.” Jon Snow answered.

“I bloody well hope not.” Behind Tormund were ten wildlings, including his son Toregg. Jon sent them with Clydas to the kitchens, to fill their bellies with food and to make them his guests. Tormund he led over to the armory.

The wildling was not done with his questions yet, “Is it true that that Red Women burned Marsh to wake you?”

“That is what they are telling me.”

Tormund spat, “Witches. I would have gladly killed the man, and that was before he did what he did, but this he did not deserve.” He grinned suddenly, “Though, I confess, had I known burnin’ men could bring back the dead, a lot of women might be alive today.”

“And a few bears, no doubt.”

“Har, aye, a few bears too.”

The laughter ceased as the two of entered Donal Noye’s apartments above the armory however. Jon left Horse and Garse in front of the gates and led Tormund to a table beside the window. He could feel the wildling’s eyes upon himself as he poured them a flagon of mulled wine from the kettle over the hearth. He set the flagons on the table and took a seat across from Tormund.

“How did it feel?” Tormund asked, “While you were dead.” His wine drenched his beard as he took a deep draught.

“I was dead. I did not feel anything.” There had been men outside, running, shouting, fighting. A wooden wall separated them from him, and that was good, or they would have seen his fear, smelled his fear. “The first thing I remember after is pain and confusion. I thought I had only fainted and that Clydas had healed me, and wondered how I had not died. But they told me I had died, had been dead for half a day. A stopped heart and all that.”

“And are you alive now?” Tormund leaned forward, putting his arms on the table, “are you truly alive, or just a puppet dancing to the Red Women.”

I will do anything to find out. “Does it matter?” Jon asked him. He had seen this question in the eyes of almost every man he had seen since his death, and was afraid he did not know the answer. “You will not trust me either ways. Puppet or not, I am still Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

“Your brothers seem have something to say about that.”

“That is only a problem if they do something more than just say.”

“That knight Ser Dorden of your queen says that they will. The Red Women sees things in her fires.”

“She does.” He conceded, “bu we have no way of knowing if she really did see some of the things she says she saw or are just lies to serve her own purpose.”

“Ser Dorden said she will give me the truth about Mance.”

So, that is why you finally came. “The truth about Mance is that the Red Women lied to the entire north, and her own king. Is that really the kind of person you want to throw your lot with?”

“You are making it more and more tempting. Is it true that you agreed to give black cloaks to the women of Long Barrow?”

Jon almost grimaced. Mallister had done that. After Jon’s apparent death, after the confusion and the fighting had died down, Clydas had written to Ser Denys Mallister at The Shadow Tower to please come and take command. On his way, Mallister had evaluated the situation, just like everyone else was doing, and had concluded that a battle between the black brothers and the wildlings was eminent. To reduce Tormund’s strength, he had dispatched letters to the Long Barrow and to the Eastwatch offering the spearwives and the giants a chance to take the black. Later, Selyse had helped him by allowing to pass an edict that allowed women and giants to take the black as well. A disunity in the wildlings will make them choose sides, and no doubt the queen hoped that Tormund, or atleast his wildlings, after seeing the spearwives and giants go over to the night’s watch, will follow the queen’s men. Their contempt for the black brothers was well known.

Tormund knew all this however, and Jon was wondering how to respond, for he could hardly say it was not me, it was Mallister, when Horse poked his head in, “M’lord,” He said, “Ser Brus is without, the queen has sent for you and Tormund.”

Jon looked to Tormund, hoping the wildling would take affront on being sent for like a bloody kneeler, but Tormund simply looked at Jon, seeing if the Lord Commander would get up. Having no choice, Jon got up from his chair. “Wipe the wine” He told Tormund, “Or it will freeze your beard.”

Outside, Horse and Garse again joined them. The way to the King’s tower was short, but felt to Jon as if lasting for an hour. On his right, the wall rose high and icy blue in the cloudless sky, sentries patrolling above. Apart from those, every man they saw stared at the company as it passed. The eyes were sullen, accusing. It sent Jon’s wounds itching. When Jon had apparently died, the black brothers had contemplated battle, a Castle Black free of guests, and of gratitude of House Bolton for getting rid of the Bastard of Winterfell. Whether or not they supported Jon’s command, all these changes had seemed only to favor the watch, and Jon revival had robbed them of the vision, and replaced it with one in which Ramsay Bolton was marching on Castle Black with an army.

The raven had come from the Last Hearth one day after Jon’s stabbing, telling them of the battle Bolton’s Bastard had written of. It had confirmed the worst, but only for Selyse. For after confirming of the King’s death, the letter had said that Tycho Nestoris was making for Eastwatch with Ser Justin Massy and the Lord Commander’s sister. The letter had also said that scouts had seen the Bolton host start marching towards Castle black.

Words will transform into swords if the Bastard made it to the wall. Jon had to get rid of the queen.

They entered the room where Stannis had once planned a march on the Dreadfort. The table was still there, but instead of the King, it was the queen sitting behind it. Lady Melisandre stood near the fireplace, a poker in hand as if she meant to skewer someone. Ser Dorden stood behind her grace’s chair, a hand on the hilt of his sword. The hand tightened when Jon kneeled in front of the queen but Tormund did not.

“It is customary to kneel before a queen.” Sniffed Selyse, rather stiffly.

“I am of the free folk. Not kneeler.” Tormund answered.

“Maybe I can make him understand in simpler terms.” Ser Dorden said soothingly to the queen as he came forward. He drew out his sword and addressed Tormund. “It is good sense to kneel to a queen. Otherwise, you could die.” Seeing the steel bared, Jon got up from his knees.

“Aye, of course you can” said Tormund angrily, “seeing as how she makes you come before her without any arms. Give me my sword back, and we will see who dies.”

“Ser Dorden did not mean to threaten, my lord.” Melisandre intervened as she set the poker beside the hearth. “He was merely laying out the facts.”

“I am no lord.” Tormund said gruffly, still eyeing the naked steel in Ser Dorden’s hand.

“And therein lies your demise.” Melisandre said, “For a lord will have his queen’s protection, in exchange for a bended knee.”

“Protection? You want me to abandon the wall and ride south with you, to get killed by the Boltons.”

“If you do not leave the wall with us. You will get killed by the Night’s Watch.”

Jon bristled at that, “The freefolk are guests of the Night’s Watch. No harm will come to them. They are here under my protection.”

“As were we,” Selyse reminded him accusingly, “when Ser Patrek died.”

“Ser Patrek tried to steal Val, he wounded Wun Wun.” The giant himself had died in the coming fight, the thought of it still made Jon angry. “I had warned him of the wildling customs, right here in this room, but he was too stubborn to listen. At any rate, he did not die at the hands of anyone wearing a black cloak.”

“No, I suppose he didn’t. That was you.” The queen turned towards Tormund. “Had my knights not prevented them, the brothers from Castle Black would have attacked Oakenshield. I do not need to tell you what would have happened. But it can happen again.”

Jon started to speak, but Tormund overrode him, “Maybe. Or not. There is two ways this can go. But only one way if I come with you. That one ends only in a fight. Now I am sure you are a very powerful sorceress,” He addressed Melisandre, “But I still am not following you into battle.”

Jon gritted his teeth, anticipating Melisandre’s answer, “You will be following King Stannis into battle. Not me.”

“King Stannis is dead.”

“So was Jon Snow, you saw that yourself.”

“I figured you would say that.” Tormund said, “I suppose you mean to awaken Stannis the same way you did. Who are you gonna burn this time.”

“Do not let it concern you.” Melisandre smiled, her eyes glittering.

“Fine. I suppose that does not matter. What does matter is how you’re gonna get your hands on the body itself. It will take more than half a month to reach Winterfell in this weather. The cold will preserve the body I suppose, but the bastard would have destroyed the body by the time you meet him.”

Jon had himself pointed this out to Melisendre before. And she gave Tormund the same stupid answer that she gave him. “He won’t.”

Tormund snorted, “Seen it in your fires, have you? Why would I believe you?”

Melisandre smiled, “In my fires, I saw a group of ragged northmen and southron knights fleeing through a white world. Ser Godry Farring led them, with the King’s body secure in a wagon with his fading sword. I saw this group being caught by the flayed men. I only gave them some assistance.”

This was new, “What assistance?” Jon asked.

“Remember the men that escaped with Cregan Karstark after your stabbing. Alf of Runnymudd and Wick Whittlestick? I owe you an apology Lord Snow. It was me that freed them. Your brothers would have killed them, even if they approved of what they did. I had more use of them alive than dead.”

“You…?” News of Karstark’s escape had troubled Jon more than that of Wick’s and Alf’s. He and Clydas had assumed that they had helped Karstark who had just been moved to the Lord Commander’s Tower. Jon had Tom Barleycorn searching for them even now. “What use?”

“I needed Ramsay Snow to know that the only way he will have a chance of getting to Selyse or Shireen will be if he preserves the king’s body. If the body is destroyed, as Karstark will tell him, then Selyse will flee across the Narrow Sea to keep Shireen safe. If I have judged the Bastard correctly, he will not want Stannis’ heir escape his clutches. He will not destroy the body.”

“And prey, what will Wick Whittlestick tell him? Had you considered that?” Jon asked her, his throat constricted with anger.

Melisandre bowed her head, “Whittlestick will tell Snow about the way you almost rallied half the wildlings against him. He will tell him about all your atrocities as Lord Commander, giving lands and castles to Stannis and the Wildlings, letting Wildlings and giants through the gate, killing Janos Slynt. He will tell him that the Night’s Watch isn’t very happy with you. And when the Bastard comes to Castle Black,” She looked in Jon’s eyes, “he will offer the black brothers a chance to get rid of you. And they will comply.”

Jon would have ripped out Longclaw then and there, if he had it. His hands were itching to strangle the Red Women instead. I sheltered you. Fed you. I gave Stannis good counsel. I brokered marriages for you. He would have said all this, but Selyse spoke up, getting up from her chair.

“You gave us no choice.” She told Jon. “My husband offered you Winterfell. Your father’s seat. Something anybody of your birth only dreams of. But you refused him. Time and time again you refused to lead the north. But you jumped at the chance to save your sister, when Lady Melisadre offered Rattleshirt’s service to you. You owe us your life, and yet you still will not help us.” Her voice was getting shrill, “I remind you, you yourself were about to march against this man who has stolen your family’s castle just three days ago. It is not too late yet, the wildlings…”

Jon held up his hand, “Your grace,” he was straining to control his voice, “you have a strange way of appealing to allies.” He nodded towards Tormund, “Decide whatever you want with Tormund, but do it fast. You have overstayed your welcome here at Castle Black. Gather your men and your belongings. I want you out of Castle Black before the sun sets tomorrow.” He bowed to the queen, and left her company.


	9. Cersei I

****

She dreamt that she was in her bed. She looked beside her, expecting Robert, but hoping for Jaime. But saw no one. The night was dark. No torch was burning, yet she could see the walls of her chamber. There was the door. She walked to it and tried to open it, but it would not budge. “Where are we going?” Came her daughter’s voice. Cersei turned around, and realized that Tommen was not here. “We have to go.” She told her daughter, “Trust me.” But the door would not budge, and suddenly the walls were closing in on her. She went to Myrcella and hugged her, to protect her. The walls kept coming closer, and the darkness deepened around her, till she could not even see her hands…

When she woke up, her heart was pounding, and she was sweaty in the cold room. She shook awake the girl beside her. “Light a torch and bring me that book on the table. I cannot sleep.” In her cell on Visenya’s hill, the septas had come hourly to keep her awake. In her prison in Red Keep, sleep itself eluded her more oft as not. She had hoped after Myrcella’s return, she would worry less, sleep more. But the inverse had come to pass. She now worried about both her living children. That hideous scar on her face…

Nymeria Sand had assured her that her sister would root out this Gerold Dayne out of his keep in due time. But from what Ser Kevan had told her about the attitudes in Dorne, this might not be enough. And Myrcella was to go live there after she was married. To be sure, time may calm the waters, but Cersei was loath to leave something to time. _I need to do something. Getting myself out of here would be a good start._

The girl brought the book and set a candle beside it. She was a child, some nine years of age. Waking up in the dead of the night did not agree with her. Cersei waited till she was asleep, and opened the page she wanted. There was the parchment as she had left it. Qyburn’s messege.

 _I cannot write much._ He had started. Seeing his handwriting had filled Cersei’s heart with joy. He was the only one who had not abandoned her in her worst hour. When the mob had started jostling with the gold cloaks on their way back from the mud gate when Myrcella had arrived, Cersei had remembered another riot, when Joff had been alive. But Qyburn must have instigated it. When he had learned that Randyll Tarly was allowing Cersei to be there to receive her daughter, he must have given the parchment to some beggar. The mob had broken the ring around them, emboldened by shouts and jeers, and when the gold cloaks had cleared them away, Cersei had found the wrinkled parchment on her saddle. A little warning would have had been nice, but Cersei had managed to hide it without anyone noticing.

Qyburn was blunt and to the point. _Storm’s End has fallen._ He had written. _No Stormlander volunteered this information to us suggests they are keeping the option to join Jon Connington open. Mace Tyrell needs to take his army south soon._ That much was true. The stormlanders might benefit from seeing his army. _I made the singer put on a show of madness in the trial, so that his damning testimony might be thrown out. It seemed the only way to prevent a crisis. Mace Tyrell might choose Aegon over Tommen for his daughter’s husband, so must not be driven to the choice by us or the faith._ _There is already some animosity between the faith and the Tyrells. The High Septon was not happy about the events after Ser Kevan’s death._ It left a bad taste in her mouth, to undo what she had planned for. But Qyburn was right. Mace Tyrell wanted his daughter to be queen. He only needed an unmarried king for that. Plus, a seventeen year old boy king would mean quick heirs.

 _There are too few Lannister loyalists left in the city._ Qyburn went on on the other side of the paper. _Ser Lancel is trying to convince the swords and the stars to take up arms against Mace Tyrell and free Tommen. I will arrange a meeting between the two of you before the trial. If you have instructions for me, drop a parchment out of your window in a pouch._

This was the best part. Something she could clutch at. Ser Harys had told her that Lancel had come to see his father’s body, but Mace Tyrell had not allowed him to meet her. Cersei had thought Lancel had betrayed her, but now he seemed to be trying to help her. That was good. Also, Lancel was now a man of the faith, so Mace Tyrell could not touch him, easily at least.

She made the drop the following morning. In the night, the windows had been closed against the winter winds, and she could not risk the sound of opening them waking the girl novice sharing her bed. The girls changed every three days. By now Cersei did not even try to remember their names. They drew her bath. Maintained her wardrobe. Fetched her meals. Poured her wine. And watched her. For the High Sparrow or Mace Tyrell she could not say.

Today was the day of her trial. Lord Tyrell had hastened it, no doubt in response to the news the Dornishwomen had brought. Mathis Rowan was dead, and the siege broken. Connington had displayed Stannis’ banners, leading the soldiers inside the castle think their king had come back. Together they had made short work of the token force that Tyrell had left with Mathis Rowan to continue the siege. After Rowan was dead, his army routed, the dragon had turned Stannis’ men. By the time Ser Gilbert Farring, Stannis’ castellan, had realized his mistake, it had been too late. The sellswords had gotten inside. Mace Tyrell was to blame for this. If the fool had not brought his army back with him…

She left her chambers when Mace Tyrell decreed that it was time to leave. Outside, the servants were clearing the usual paths from snow. It had snowed all night, and in the city the streets would be muddy. Her champion was beside her, ever armored in white and shining with the symbols of The Seven. She wondered whether it will make the High Sparrow love him or hate him after he kills his champion.

In the outer ward, she came upon the Dornish party. She could feel Ser Robert Strong tense up behind her as they approached. She had tried her best to keep him away from the Dornish as long as she could, but she knew she could not keep him from meeting any dornishman or women indefinitely. She was sure The Lady Nym had heard of the huge knight that was going to champion the queen in her trial by combat. She could see her now, eying Ser Robert as she came near, the dornish bastard who dared ask her rightful queen if she was allowed to wear clothes. The memory still made her bristle. Myrcell had returned that day from Dorne with that hideous scar on her face. All her relief and joy at the return of her daughter safe if not entirely whole had evaporated when she had learned the escort also contained their new master of laws. After they had been presented of the correspondence Ser Kevan had had with Nymeria Sand, she had wondered if her uncle taken leave of his wits, to allow another bastard, a women child of the Red Viper at that, on the council after the treachery of Aurane Waters? The only reason why she had even remained hospitable to the bitch was that there were new enemies in the field, enemies that could get help from Dorne if Dorne was offended in any way. Nymeria Sand knew this as well, Cersei could see it in the smug look she always seemed to wear on her face.

 

She did not look smug now though. Her face was calm, but Cersei could sense the fury beneath it. Cersei almost wished she would do something to cause trouble. They were surrounded by Tyrell men. A brawl between Dornish and roses will not give Doran Martell any cause to break with the Lannisters.

 

But the women kept her mouth in check.  “So this is the great Ser Robert Strong of whom I have heard so much of?” she said to Cersei. “I have never seen a man so large in my life before, only a skull of the man of same size.” She turned and smiled at the knight who silently, if somewhat tensely stood behind the queen, “I hope the father above lends strength to your arms Ser. You wouldn’t want to die now, would you?”

 

Cersei intervened, deciding that maybe making a scene was not the best way to start the day of her trial, “No doubt he is grateful for your well wishes. He has taken a vow of silence until he vanquishes all of my enemies, otherwise he would tell you himself.

Some of the smugness returned to the women’s eyes as she turned towards Cersei, “All of Her Grace’s enemies” she said, “That will take some time, I am sure. Maybe It should be Ser Robert who should lead the host to Storm’s End. He will surely find your grace’s enemies there.”

Did the girl think Cersei was going to send her shield away? “Who leads what host is a matter for the king’s council to decide, not me.”

“Aw, you are not going to join the council? Such a shame! My father wrote to me that it was very entertaining to be on a council with Lannisters and Tyrells.”

Cersei was spared from answering by Ser Harys’ arrival. Saying goodbye to Sand, She allowed Ser Harys to lead her to the litter. She was startled to see Lancel waiting by the litter.

“Your grace.” He bowed to her. “His High Holiness has appointed me to provide you with an escort.”

“Mace Tyrell was going to provide my escort.” Cersei said, confused. She had not thought much about what to say to Lancel yet.

 “The high septon insisted.” Ser Harys told her. “Have no fear your grace, you wiil be safe with the knights of the faith.” Lancel added.

As she had hoped, Lancel climbed in the litter beside her. “After the excitement of the mob the last time you were outside, it was not hard to convince Lord Tyrell about the litter.” He told her as they were carried out from the Red Keep.

“His daughter he is making ride on a horse.” Cersei pointed out to him. “So the smallfolk can fawn over her.” Ser Harys had told her that Margaery was sharing Tommen’s bed now, at behest of her father. It made her angry every time she thought about it. They were stealing her son away from her.

“The smallfolk love the Tyrells.” Lancel was saying. “The roses have been nice to them. The soldiers frequent the brothels. Not many fights. Kingslanders have not forgotten that they were the ones that brought food for them after the famine of the war.”

“Yet they have forgotten that it was them who started the war. If that Tyrell boy had not crowned Renly, there would have been no famine.” Her cousin had always been a boy, lanky and thin. But now he wore a half starved look, and his eyes were bright, as if he didn’t sleep anymore. Just like the High Septon. How far has he gone in his faith? “I need your help Lancel. They are stealing my son away from me.”

“Mace Tyrell says he is just keeping him safe.”

“Do you want Tommen to become a Tyrell? Are you a Lannister or not.”

“I am a Lannister. But Tommen is a Baratheon.”

Cersei flushed. Was this a plot? To make Cersei confess to Lancel before the trial in anger? “Why are you here then, if you do not mean to help me?”

Lancel looked down. “I am sorry. I did come here to help you.” He turned his face away. “I was just…”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just know this. If I am to help you, we need the High Septon on our side.”

“Why would he be on our side? He hates me!”

“He doesn’t. Not if you win the trial. He is a just man. He knew why I wanted the charge of your escort. And still gave it to me. He feels that Mace Tyrell overreacted after my father’s… after my father died.”

Is he looking for comfort? That was something Cersei could spin. She took his hand in her own, “I was very sorry when Ser Kevan died. He was a good and true brother to mine own father.” She lifted his chin, “You must now take his place. Leave for Casterley Rock with the High Septon’s leave. When Mace Tyrell leaves for Storm’s End, you can come back with an army to take the Red Keep back.”

He shook his head. “Mace Tyrell won’t leave. He has had Qyburn spread rumors that Ronnet Conningtons daughters were being mistreated in captivity. When Red Ronnet hears of them, he will want command, and Tyrell will give it to him. But even if he does, he will leave Randyll Tarly behind. And they won’t let me leave.”  
“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Qyburn told me that they had men watching me. I had been asking the High Septon leave to go look for Jaime in the Riverlands. But when he put the matter before Mace Tyrell, Tyrell refused. He obviously is hoping Jaime will not return, or that he can make sure of it by sending a Tyrell search party. He will take me into captivity too if not for the High Septon”

No. She could not lose Jaime too. Qyburn had apparently been talking with Lancel a lot. But what amazed her was how mature her cousin had become. Maybe it was losing his father that had shocked him. Maybe Cersei could rely on him. “Then maybe you can try getting regentship. You are Ser Kevan’s son after all. If the High Sparrow insists…”

“I have had the selfsame thought. But maybe Tyrell will concede to giving me the Hand’s chair. Though I do not like the new chair he has had made.” He smiled, “Lannisters are not naught to be feared even if my father’s dead, and you are improsoned. Some of my father’s guardsmen have told me that our cousin Daven has returned to Casterly Rock. He can bring the army you spoke of if needed.”

“Yes, be sure to let Mace Tyrell know that.” She took a deep breath. “What do you need me to do? I want to help.”

“Just entreat to the High Septon of making Mace Tyrell make me hand after your trial is over. I will do the rest.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you Lancel. I knew I could always count on you! I will never forget this, I swear.” She kissed him on both cheeks.

By this time they had reached the steps of Baelor. Lancel helped her out of the litter and led her into the sept. Ser Robert was already there, kneeling before the statue of the Warrior with another knight. “That is Ser Theodan the True, he will be championing the faith in the battle.” Lancel told her.

He will be dying for the faith is what you mean, she thought as they knelt before the high septon. Cersei was not worried about the trial, her true test would come next, afterwards, with the High Septon. She had to get him to back Lancel for the position of King’s Hand. And then all she had to do was start fucking him again.


	10. Barristan I

****

A pall hung over the city. There was nary a soul in the streets as the brazen beasts made their way towards the pyramid of Rhazdhar. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, as if it did not want to witness what was happening down on the earth. If so, it had that in common with Ser Barristan. But Ser Barristan would not hide behind clouds, or inside a pyramid. I am letting this happen, I should see it with my own eyes.

The Shavepate was riding beside him. About fifty Beasts accompanied them, guarding the wagon. Barristan thought he could hear weeping from inside the cart, but over the hoof beats and the creak of the wheels, it was hard to be certain. He glanced behind himself. Beside him, the Shavepate sighed.

“Did they not have hostages in the Sunset Kingdoms of yours?” He asked Barristan. “They did, and still do, no doubt.” Barristan Selmy replied, “I have seen this farce too many times, but that has not made killing of children any easier.”

“Children today, slavers tomorrow.” Skahaz said. Ser Barristan wished he could dispute him. The Queen’s cupbearers were gentle in speech and manner, and had no liking nor the stomach for violence. But that was almost always true for those born and bred in nobility, and it had probably been true for their fathers and uncles in their youths. Yet, it was these fathers and uncles that Ser Barristan was marching against right now.

The pyramids had rebelled against the ruling council and the queen’s supporters during the battle. The sons of the harpy had finally revealed themselves when they had attacked the Brazen Beasts upon the walls from within. In an hour, fighting had broken out all over the city. The Shavepate and Ser Barristan had anticipated trouble from the pyramids though. They had been ready, and the pyramids had been put down and secured, all but three of the twelve that had rebelled. The children in the wagon were the sons and daughters of these pyramid. Three of the Queen’s cupbearers. Skahaz would have had killed them all, every one whose fathers had taken up arms against his beasts, but Ser Barristan would not allow it. Barristan could not stop him from butchering their families though. “The men swung the swords, but the women gave them courage.” He had insisted. “They are just as much traitors as their husbands and fathers and sons.” He had reminded Barristan that he had been saying from the start that the pyramids had been harboring the harpy’s supporters. The entire council had sided with him, and now they had ten pyramids bereft of owners, on their way to become thirteen.

They formed up in front of the pyramid of Rhadzhar. The pyramid was under siege by the stormcrows. The sellswords were dicing in the street, but they got up as the beasts pulled up. Skahaz climbed down from his horse. With gritted teeth, Ser Barristan watched as he pulled a sobbing Quezza out of the wagon and took her in front of the barred gate. At his command, a block was set up and the girl was bent over it, her head sticking out in the air. The girl never offered any resistance, and only looked up to the pyramid once before bending down.

 The walls of the pyramids were bare, as were it’s steps. The windows of the third story were open, but empty, until now. A face appeared there, helmed. The Shavepate addressed it. “Yield, and we will…” he began, but before he could finish his sentence, a bow appeared in another window, and shot an arrow at the Shavepate. A brazen beast with the face of a wolf bulled into his commander, and both went down. Ser Barristan wheeled his horse towards the cowering girl and picked her up on his horse. All around him, the stormcrows and the brazen beasts started to prepare to scale the walls.

Ser Barristan went to the Shavepate, “Wait, listen.” He said to the man. Shouts and scream were emerging from the windows. Shadows played behind them in the gloom. Crashes could be heard. There was fighting going on inside. “Rhazdhar had taken in the noblemen from the Pyramid of Uhlez after Visirion destroyed it. It’s them not yielding, not Rhazdhar. Quazzmo probably wants to yield. Let them kill each other, then we can scale the walls.”

In the end, the walls of the pyramid came to be held by the sons and cousins of Zogac Uhlez, and Ser Barristan had no choice but to command the Beasts to scale the walls. Fights were still being fought inside the pyramids when they entered, but so many were already wounded that the pyramid fell quickly. Most of the family of Quazzmo Ko Rhazdhar were already dead, only a handful of children and some women remained. As they walked through the slashed curtains, broken doors and furnitures, Ser Barristan could not see any slavers, only parents trying to get to their child. Most of the men had died fighting, with swords in hands, but there were women dead also, and these bore the marks of someone who had gone against a sword without any arms. _Not slavers_ , a voice inside him whispered. _Just parents._ But who was he fooling, if the roles had been reversed, it would be Uhlezes that would have died with slashed hands at the hands of Rhazdhars.

“I have sent the Rhazdhars to the pyramid of Ghogor.” Came the Shavepate’s voice from behind him, “The Uhlezes I have sent to Kwagan.”

Ser Barristan looked at him with raised eyebrows. Kwagan was their new headsman, but the pyramid of Goghor was where they were keeping the highborn captives that were under the council’s protection. “Yes, yes, I know. I spared the Rhadzhars.” Came his answer to the unanswered question. “I knew you would insist on it, and I did not want to argue with you.”

“They tried to yield…”

“Yes, yes I know. Come on, we still have two more pyramids to go.”

The next two pyramids went without any more of a farce. The sight of their blood kneeling on the block, and the smoke rising from the pyramid of Rhazdhar helped them make up their minds. Ser Barristan had ordered them to set whatever they could on fire in the pyramid, just in case the Grazdhans and Malaqs were slavers first, and then parents. After dispatching the captives, more captives than Skahaz liked, they posted the Brazen Beasts, relieving the stormcrows, and started their journey towards the Great Pyramid through the night.

As they neared the hulking pyramid, Ser Barristan addressed the Shavepate beside him, “Tell your beasts to restore order in the city. The curfews must be lifted. Meereen needs to go back it’s the normal life.”

“I will give the orders.” Shavepate nodded at him, “We still need to decide what to do with the newly empty pyramids.”

“We have to take them under our own control first.” Presently, six of the rebel pyramids were occupied by the Brazen Beasts. While three were controlled by the Ironmen and the Second Sons had five. “The Ironmen should not present much difficulty in handing the pyramids over to us. The Iron Captain has come here to take Daenerys and her unsullied back to westeros, he is not interested in plunder. The Second Sons however, are.” The situation was a tricky one. During the battle, while the Brazen Beasts had been fighting the Harpy’s Sons in the streets, over at the sea, a different battle had been going on. The Second Sons had turned their cloaks and attacked the Yunkish fleet. When he had met Victarion Greyjoy, Ser Jorah had led him to Meereen’s port. An unsullied captain posted there had recognized him, and let him through. He had directed them to the streets, to bolster the Brazen Beasts, but Ser Jorah, correctly thinking that if the Harpy’s Sons were mainly comprised of noblemen, and would be routed soon, had instead led the Second Sons and the Ironmen to the pyramids themselves. They had secured the pyramids before the Harpy’s Sons could retreat back. It was because of this that only three pyramids could bar their doors against the Brazen Beasts. Brown Ben knew the tedious and bloody task his men had helped Ser Barristan avoid, and will want his reward.

“They will give them up, and count themselves lucky that it was all they had to give up, and not their life.” Skahaz was saying, “If need be, we will remind them of how they betrayed us and went over to Yunkai.”

“Ser Jorah says that that was his plan, to seemingly betray us, and infiltrate the approaching Yunkai and then betray them from within.”

“Do you believe that story?”

“No, but it may be the truth.” Love made men do foolish things. Daenerys had exiled the knight, to return on the peril of death. But he had stayed, and returned. Or maybe love had nothing to do with it, maybe he had realized that he will not get any sympathy from the Lannisters, seeing as he had not killed Daenerys. Whatever the reasons his help had been crucial, and Ser Barristan had opened the city gates to the Second Sons and given them a seat on the council. “Regardless of the truthfulness of the story, we have no reason to trust sellswords, and they know it. They will give up the pyramids.” The Shavepate nodded.

The issue of the pyramids was seldom addressed over the next few days, however. The council had more important matters to consider.

“The Volantene fleet has reached Yunkai. Unsure of how to proceed, now that the Yunkish army is no more.” A scout from the Starlwart Shields reported. “They do not have enough men to pose threat to Meereen, but they could still make Yunkai’s defense formidable.”

“Let them” Belaquo Bonebreaker declared, “So long as they remain there, they are no concern of us. And if they march or sail against us, we will crush them.” But the rest of the council was of the mind that they will do neither. Yunkai was defeated, but Meereen still had other enemies that the Volantene fleet could augment. If it were him, the Tattered Prince felt, he would sail to New Ghis or Quarth, abandoning Yunkai. “Quarth would be my choice”, Ser Jorah added, “New Ghis has ships, but the Quartheen army would need time to reach Meereen. I will empty my ships of my soldiers, command them to proceed to Meereen on foot, while I myself will bring the Quartheen army over by the sea, bolster myself with the Ghiscari fleet out of New Ghis, and then attack Meereen.”

He painted a bad picture, and the rest felt that those were the colors the canvas was showing. But they could not agree upon what brush they must take up. The pit fighters and the freedmen wanted to attack Yunkai, but were unable to come up with an answer for threats from Quarth and New Ghis. An attack against either of the cities might mean retaliation on the army by the other city. The Slaver cities were never friends, nor good allies, as the Yunkish attack had proved. But only a fool does not learn from his mistakes, and the Slavers were not fools. The traders and merchants out of Quarth and New Ghis reported that there was conversation going on between the Thirteen of Quarth and the Lockstep Lords of New Ghis, and that was before the battle. Also in the unlikely event that the outcome of the battle with Yunkai slavers change their minds about a war with Meereen, an attack on these cities might start an avoidable war. This was unlikely, but unless known otherwise, Barristan was reluctant to land the first blow.

Others had even different reservations. Victarion Greyjoy had travelled halfway across the world to bring Daenerys back to Westeros. His arrival was still a puzzle to Ser Barristan, who had been reminded of Prince Quentyn the moment he had heard of the Iron Captain’s arrival. Greyjoy had not asked for the Queen’s hand in marriage, but he had come for the dragons all the same. He did not want to get drawn in the slaver conflict. He also needed his fleet to return back to Westeros, and thus was reluctant to take it into war. He counseled sacking Yunkai, making peace with New Ghis and Quarth, gifting them Yunkai if need be, and bide their time in Meereen until Daenerys came back. Ser Barristan did not think he will wait much long, if the dragon queen did not come back soon, the Ironmen will be gone, leaving Meereen bereft of a fleet again.

The sellsword companies had stayed silent during the councils. Only speaking when proving reports or known facts. They said that they will follow any plan made by the council. But they too had objections, objections to any plan that was likely to be made by the council. The night after Lord Victarion expressed his desire to return to Westeros with the Iron Fleet in one piece, Barristan Selmy had two surprise visitors.

Ser Barristan knew what the Pentoshi wanted. “I returned your hostages in one piece.” The Tattered Prince said to him while swirling the wine in his cup. “I know you have wars to fight yet, but I must know when you will make good on our deal.” The deal! Ser Barristan had promised the sellsword captain Pentos. Pentos for three hostages. The hostages were important people to Daenerys, but it still sounded absurd to Ser Barristan. But at the time when the battle had been on hand, Ser Barristan had seen no other way.

“The matter of returning to westeros is in the hands of the Queen.” Ser Barristan replied warily.

“Daenerys is dead Ser. No point in her loyalists sharing her fate quite so soon. The people she cared about.”  
“She also cared about the slaves. Mhysa they called her. Mother. You’d have me leave them to die?”

“I would” Said the Tattered Prince, sipping his wine. “They are dead anyways. Autumn is upon us. And when winter comes, Meereen will starve. And who knows when the ride of the pale mare will end? New Ghis and Quarth will, in my opinion, not attack till summer comes. And when they do, a starved and diseased army will not stop them.”

Ser Barristan was speechless. In between the war councils, he had not paid much thought to the people he was fighting for. “We will bring food from the Lhazareen. Or from Quarth or New Ghis, whichever we sack.” He said in the end.

“In winter, the Lamb Men take their granaries to the red waste, to better protect them from hungry dothraki raiders. They retreat to the caves in the mountains, from where they believe the Great Shepheard emerged with the first lamb, and do not come out until the sands start shining again.” He shrugged, “But maybe you will sack Quarth and New Ghis. Then what? This fleet of Volantis wasn’t sent here because their port was overcrowded. Half the world practices slavery, every one of which is an enemy of us if we attack Quarth or New Ghis. The Tolosi and Elyrian legions had been en route when the battle opened. They have turned back now, but they will return. Unless you can control the dragons, we are doomed.

Ser Barristan was getting angry. This is why he did not announced all this in the council. If any word of this went to the Shavepate’s ears, or any of the freedmen, their fury might spill blood. “We cannot just run away, my lord.”

“Maybe you cannot. I am a sellsword. Of company Windblown. Running is second nature to us, if you will indulge me.” He set down the glass and stood up. “I have said what I came to say. The rest I leave to the hand.”

Ser Barristan saw him to the door, and returned to the balcony. He had received the Tattered Prince in terrace outside of the queen’s chamber. Now he wished he had done so in a more secret place. The Brazen Beasts guarded the pyramid, and by the morrow, Skahaz will come to know of this meeting. He will want to know why the Tattered Prince wanted to meet with Barristan. At night too. The pentoshi prince did not want Skahaz to know his reservations, but he had not taken much care to hide this meeting. Ser Barristan did not believe that this had not occurred to the Prince. More like, he hoped that Skahaz and Barristan would have a falling out, and then Ser Barristan will lead to Unsullied to Westeros, via Pentos. Barristan would have to keep eyes on that man.

His thoughts were interrupted by Missendei, who had just cleared away the table, “Pardon me Ser, Brown Ben is here to see you.”

Him too? “Send him in, child.” What does he want? Though, him being a sellsword, could not be different than what the pentoshi wanted.

It wasn’t. Though Brown Ben was much less blunt about his desires. He even accepted it when Barristan told him that the Queen wasn’t dead. “But even if she isn’t dead, leaving Meereen is the best choice, Ser.” He said, “You are an experienced soldier. You have been in court and on battlefield. You know the realities of this world. Daenerys is but a child, but you know that slavery cannot be ended. Leave, I say. And if Daenerys is alive, she will be trying to come back to you. If she hears that you are in Westeros, she has to come to Westeros.”

“Her city is here. How is she supposed to come to Westeros unaided my lord?”

“Here is a city that will be the death of her. Her home is in Westeros. The only people that want her live you will find in Westeros. If you believe she can return to Meereen, then she can come to Westeros just as well. She will not abandon her children Ser, you know that. And so you must do it for her. Allow me to say this Ser, but you are of the kingsguard. Your duty is to protect the Queen, from her enemies, as well as herself. If it is her wrath you fear, just remember that it is your duty to protect her. I do not know whether Daenerys is alive or not, but if she returns to Meereen, she will die.”


	11. Arya I

A long time ago, in another life when she had been Arya Stark, she had chased pigeons and cats all over the Red Keep. In the end, after much difficulty, she had captured even the black tomcat. Yet now, as Terry, chasing men was proving a harder task.

To be sure, she did not have to catch them. She only had to follow them, without being found out. It was listening in on their conversations that was tricky. By now she had spied on nine people, and this last assignment was proving the most difficult.

Her previous targets had been from various parts of the community. There had been a merchant, and she had sneaked into one of his carts to get into his warehouse to see if his storages matched his taxes. There had been a whore, and she had had to make note of all the men that frequented her bed over two weeks. She had had to hide in an inn for one week to see who all visited, stealing food from the kitchens and sleeping in the kennel with the dogs. She had followed a baker for a while to see if she was whoring around on her husband, that one had been the easiest. The hardest one had been the Iron Bank of Braavos. She had sneaked into their mint and then into their vaults on the course of three days. Scaling the walls, making note of frequented paths, knowing who was avoiding who had taken time. She had copied down everything from the papers left by the chief banker’s after a meeting and had given it to Izembaro.

Yet breaking into this man’s cloth shop was proving a harder task than all the others. The common rule of all the assignments was to not get caught. But this man was suspicious. His guards were much disciplined, and did not let anyone in after a certain stage. The cloth wagons that sometimes came were always inspected. There were no unguarded windows, and those that were unguarded, were impossible to climb. His building was on the edge of a canal, and Terry had tried to climb from that side to a window, only to spot that the obvious handholds were loose, probably intentionally. The man had created a trap for those who would rob him. The robber would think that this was the only weak point of the building, and fall into the canal waking the guards.

It was frustrating. Every time she had been stuck in the past cases, there had been some trick she could learn from Liam, Izembaro’s cousin, that would help her past the obstacle. While following the merchant, she had learned the trick to unlock doors with a hairpin. To survive in the inn, she had learned how to tame wild dogs, and snakes. The innkeep and his wife had a nasty habit of sleeping in a bed full of snakes. Before breaking into the Iron Bank, she had learned to scale a wall, make a rope ladder, to solve ciphers. But nothing came to mind when she thought about how she could break in the cloth shop without changing her face. Time was running out. She only had two days to bring back her acolyte’s robe that Izembaro had planted in there. Elsewise she will not be permitted back in the House of Black and White. She wondered how Izembaro had planted the robe.

“No one is invulnerable.” Izembaro’s strong voice rang in her head. But the only way she could think of getting inside the building was setting fire to some of the cargo someday. In the confusion, she could slip inside, maybe. But she did not think Izembaro would be pleased by this approach. And what if someone died in the fire?

Today she was following a guard as he made his way back home from his night shift. Not having any new idea to try, she was hoping something would give her one. The man resided in a somewhat poorer district of Braavos not far away from where he worked. The jungle of slum around his house was dank and filthy, but he was in a good mood. “Soon we will be living on the Ange’s square.” He told his wife. “The old man pays a lot more than what the Sealord used to pay me.”

Ange’s square was where the lower of the rich people lived. The guard was probably just dreaming too high. But it still struck Terry odd. She lay flat on the window hedge, thinking. Why was the old shop owner paying his guards so much? In the upper floors of his buildings, his spinsters and weavers worked their magic, which attracted many customers from nobility. But there was not so much competition that he needed to guard them night and day. Was the old man just paranoid? Was there some old enemy? Or was there something else going on. A suspicion seized her, and she made her way back to the Izembaro’s shop.

A gaggle of giggling girls exited the shop as Terry returned to the cloth shop. She had changed into a beggar’s outfit, mucked up her face so they will not recognize her later if she had to make an appearance. Inside the door, she could see the Old Man Temero feeding a stray dog. Terry closed her eyes. When she opened them, the Old Man Temero was in front of her, offering her food. The dog was feeling grateful to the old man, so it was a little hard to bend him to her own will. Fool, he only means to kill you when you become too trusting and fat. She opened the dog’s mouth, and took a bite of Temero’s hand. She was back in her body and fleeing before the dog was even kicked out of the building.

She returned the next morning, before anyone was awake. Izembaro lived over his shop with his cousin, and his daughter, both of them ten years older than Terry. Downstairs, Izembaro sold arms. Not his own, but common arms that no one would go to a smith to buy. Undistinguished swords, knives, spears. Shield and other stuff. In the basement, Liam worked a forge, where deadlier weapons were made. He had once shown her a four edged knife that swirled around the knife’s axis. There was a knife with hooks to one edge, which went in smoothly, but will pull your enemy’s guts out while being pulled out. But he was more than just a smith, unlike Gendry, a boy a girl named Arya had known. Apart from teaching her how to break in to houses, he and Izembaro also taught her the tricks of knives. How to hide knives over her body. How to draw them discreetly, and how to make them disappear. So far she had not had to use them.

Near the shop, there was no dog in sight, nor any cat. She searched the nearby allies, but the night had driven away most of the animals. Her eyes fell on a pigeon. She had never tried to get inside a pigeon. In the inn, she had learned how to control dogs. Liam had taught her to sooth dogs, and when she had fallen asleep beside them, she had had opened her eyes to see her own sleeping form on the floor. Wargs, Old Nan had called them when she told scary stories to that girl Arya. When bored in hiding, Terry had, just for play, tried again to see through the dog’s eyes, and had succeeded. She had not used the dogs to complete her assignment though. That would have been cheating, even if Izembaro would never find out.

She had never tried a pigeon however. But now was as good a time as any. Light as snow, she approached the pigeon. It was eating canary seeds from where someone had scattered them. Quick as a cat, she lunged, and the pigeon was in her hand. She took some seeds form the ground, and calmed the pigeon down. As it was feeding seeds from her hand, she closed her eyes, and reached…

After a few tries and pigeons, she mastered her flying. She had never flown before, but this was no time exult in the discovery. She guided the pigeon to the building, and waited.

She had to change pigeons twice before she could confirm her suspicions. Once someone had disturbed her in the ally, a women had chased her out with a stick. The second time, the bird had gotten hungry. Yet she persisted. And sometime after noon, she spied a handsome man exit the shop, with a bandaged right hand where the dog had bitten him. The old man Temero was a member of the house of Black and White, and the building belonged to them.

That evening when she went back to Izembaro, his eyes grew huge at the sight of the robes in her hand. “How?” He asked her. She shook her head. “If you can have secrets, then so can I.” If you can cheat, so can I. She had found a cat to do her bidding, and the cat had thrown the robes out of the window over the canal. But Izembaro couldn’t know that.

That night was her last supper at Izembaro's house. Liam sat beside her as she ate. “Izembaro was impressed. And worried.” He told her. “The assignment is supposed to bring you to the conclusion that the house of black and white is vulnerable. When most of the apprentices realize that Temero is one of us, they accept that the task of winning against the house of Black and White is impossible. And then only they are permitted back, with new robes.”

“I was supposed to fail the task?” She asked him, confused.

“Yes.”

“Has anyone yet brought the robes back?”

“Twice, under Izembaro’s apprenticeship. One man set fire to the nearby building, and retrieved the robe during the confusion. Another boy poisoned Temero’s son, and went inside the building disguised as a healer. Those were their last days in the house of the Many Faced God.”

“I did not hurt anyone.”

“And so they are letting you go back. Who are you?”

“Terry, from Norvos.”

“Not for long. Your apprenticeship under Izembaro is over. Valar Morghulis.”

“Valar Dohaeris.” She turned back towards her food. Wondering what she would get to learn next.


	12. Jaime I

At the sound of the opening of the gates Ser Jaime Lannister raised his head. The turnkey edged in, not meeting his eyes. "Hello there," Jaime said, and laughed as the boy jumped. He could not have been more than eleven, and seemed deathly afraid of his own shadow. He would not harden unless he enters in a scuffle with one of his prisoners, Jaime thought, but that will not be me. Even if he manage to kill this one, he would never get out of the swamps alive. If I don't fall in the hands of one of Lady Stark's soldiers, the mosquitoes will eat me alive. For the hundredth time Jaime wondered how the crannogmen managed to live here.

"Maybe they get their strength from eating frogs." He said out loud as he ate one himself from the trencher. It was a habit he had slipped into once more now, talking to himself, as he had once in Riverrun. The memory soured his stomach, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to call back the retreating boy and smash the plate over his head. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, taken captive by a dead women!

But maybe he was being too harsh to himself. Lady Catelyn had shown immense aptitude in capturing unsuspecting Lannisters. She had taken Tyrion captive at the Inn at the Crossroads, and Jaime was a cripple now, scarcely better than a dwarf.

It was the manner of his capture that rankled him the most. The first time he had been captured by the Starks, at that time he had had two hands, and one of them held a swords that had slain dozens as they tried to subdue him. This time his sword had lain uselessly on his hip as the outlaws lifted him from the ground and bound him. And worse yet, at the first time, the Starks had ridden up to him, whereas this time, this time he had ridden up to them, utterly unaware of the trap. Why do gods show young boys the dreams of glory if they are just bent on humiliating them at every turn?

Oh to be sure, the wench had been distracting him with the tale of her adventures with men with names like Nimble Dick and with dogs with names like Dog. It was to be a day long ride, and Jaime was curious about her wounds. Brienne had started telling him of how she travelled to Duskendale and then to Maidenpool only to find no trace of Sansa Stark. Her ride to the Whispers and back, meeting Timeon and Shagwell. Podric Payne, Ser Hyle Hunt, Septon Maribald, the Elder Brother, the devastation she had witnessed along the way, she had told him all, and the dawn, the morning and the afternoon had gone along with the tale. It had been close to evening when she had reached the part of her duel with Rorge and that had been when Jaime had spied the hound.

He sat atop a courser by an acorn tree at the end of a clearing in the woods. Armed and armoured, complete with the helm for which he was so famous, he seemed to be waiting for them. Brienne had drawn her sword then, and thinking that something was wrong, Jaime reached for his own sword.

But then the Wench levelled the sword across Jaime's chest, the very sword Jaime himself had given her, and for the last few yards of the ride she told him how the outlaws had nursed her back to health, only to prepare to hang her next. "They would have hanged Podrik, Jaime." She said to him, her voice cracking. Jaime had snarled at her then. But when he again made for his sword he used his right hand, only to end up fumbling uselessly at his shield with his golden hand. Laughter erupted from the trees around him then, bringing him to his senses. For the first time he took a good look around him, and saw boys and girls and outlaws coming into the clearing. Boys and girls, yes, but none of them highborn. Jaime turned toward the hound, "Do you even have the girl?" He asked, trying to get himself some time to try and formulate some escape plan.

"We had a girl" the hound rasped, "But your dog stole her from us." _This is not the hound!_ Jaime thought as the man came closer and Brienne stepped back, he is somewhat smaller than Sandor Clegane, though still big, and his voice is different. When he voiced that thought, the man removed his helm to reveal a hard face with a broken nose, "I am the new hound." He had said, smiling, "The old one is screaming in hell right now, but not to worry, we will be sending you to join him soon enough." And with that, he had hit Jaime across the mouth, hard, making him tumble from the saddle, "Is that the golden hand we have heard so much about" He had said as the outlaws hauled Jaime to his feet, "D'you think M'lady will let me crack you across the mouth with that as well?"

M'lady! Even after everything that day, Jaime had almost pissed his breeches on seeing the hound's Stoneheart’s face. He had thought he had seen loathing in Lady Catelyn's face in the cell under Riverrun, but the expression the lady wore now put that one to shame. As if the demeanour of her face, the flesh clinging to the skull in stripes had not been enough, her eyes were even more terrible.

When Jaime was dumped in front of the corpse that had once been the Lady Catelyn of House Stark, Thoros Of Myr had come forward. Jaime would not have recognized him if not for his voice when he told him how Lord Beric had revived Lady Catelyn. What war does to people, he had though then. The walking corpse, the starving fat priest, and the crippled lord commander of the kingsguard. That was so absurdly funny that Jaime had started to laugh. Only when new the hound cracked him across the face once again did he stop. He sat up. The Lady Stoneheart had stepped forward, a hand gripping her throat, and had spoken in a language he could not comprehend. But he understood the words girls and oath!

 The bloody oath! Has she forgotten that she had me at the sword point? Jaime had thought of telling her that he had saved Edmure Tully's life, but the day's events, the sights he had seen, and the beating he had received before being dumped like a sack of wheat had gone to his head and he had answered, "I do not know where your daughters are. But I know where your son is." When he had seen their interest piqued, he had continued, "He is buried in Walder Frey's graveyard, with the head of a wolf. I can take you to him if you like. You can then kiss him awake, like Dondarrion did to you, and then finally I can have the pleasure to kill him." That had earned him the crack from the hound across the face that had caused him to feint, this time from his own golden hand.

My golden hand. Jaime wondered what the outlaws had done with it. Molten down and sold, most like. The outlaws seemed to be thinking that they were needed to feed the riverlands. And if not that, they still needed the money to feed the army Lady Stoneheart was marshalling in these godforsaken swamps.

A play of shadows made him look up sharply. A figure was looming in front of the iron bars of his cell. The light was behind her, casting her face in the shadows, but Jaime still recognized Brienne, the Maid of Tarth. How did she get here so quietly? The wench opened the cell door and closed it behind her as Jaime's eyes followed her, "Ser." She knelt before, and suddenly Jaime realised that she was not wearing chainmail, as was her wont. Her face was still scarred though. "Wench, to what do I owe the misfortune of another one of your visits?" He had not seen her since the hood had been placed over his head for their journey north.

The wench flinched as if he had struck her, but then her face hardened, "If you want me gone, I shan't inflict myself upon you." She rose up to go, but Jaime, remembering the visit from Lady Catelyn so long ago in the bowels of Riverrun, called her back, "Now, now, don't act so hurt. You did deceive me you know. I think I am entitled to a few reproaches." When she stopped and turned back, Jaime made himself smile, wondering if it looked painful, "Come sit by me and tell me why you came, you can have some frog as well if you like."

The wench knelt again, but did not touch the food, "I did not deceive anyone," She declared, "My oath was to return you to King's Landing in exchange for Lady Catelyn's daughters."

"Is that the argument by which you convinced yourself to do what you did?" He sat up straight, or as straight as the chains would allow him, "You know full well that the girls were gone by the time we reached the city. And not before murdering Joffery."

"As your sister murdered Lord Eddard?" Brienne put up a hand before he could say anything, "I had my reasons for what I did Ser, as you had yours, I have not come here to argue with you about them."

"Which brings us back to my question," Jaime smiled, "Why are you here?"

The wench sat down opposite to Jaime and reclined on the bars, her hair shadowing her mannish face, "I mean to take the black."

For a moment Jaime thought he had not heard correctly. He laughed, "Oh for sure." He jutted his chin out, "Here, shave my beard and cover your face in it, and they will take you for a man for sure. You have nothing on your chest to make them suspicious."

The wench did not laugh though, and that made Jaime stop as well, "You do know that only men are allowed to take the black, don't you?"

"Lord Commander Snow of the Night's Watch has written to the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms that the Watch has started accepting women warriors as well, if they would like to say the vows." Has he? Jaime wondered, the boy was Eddard Stark's bastard, but even Ned Stark was not ever so foolish, "Vows are words, my lady, and words are wind" Why am I trying to dissuade her? "The black brothers have taken a vow to give up fucking, and you can be sure they will break it, along with your maidenhead, even if they take a good look at you first."

The wench shook her head, "No, that hasn't happened till now, and will not happen then either." On seeing the confused look on Jaime's face, she elaborated, "He has already allowed to take some of the wildling women man a castle named Long Barrow on the wall. He will need commanders for them I think, female commanders from the south. All the women will stay at Long Barrow, minimising the risk of breaking of any vows."

Jaime shook his head, "Even if all this is true, what about Tarth. You are the heir to Tarth. You can't just let it go." Have I forgotten that she is the one who got me captured? "What about Evenfall, what about your father?"

She gave him a sad look. "I may not have any choice ser, and neither will you, I think."

Jaime blinked, "Is that why you are here, to make me take the black as well?" He laughed, "From what I heard from your outlaws, Stannis will give me a warmer end than that." How easy it was to laugh at that, the thing that had stolen most of his sleep?

Again the wench shook her head, "The Starks always let people take the black if that is their wish, Lady Catelyn may have died, but she still remains a Stark, I do not doubt she will let you do the same if you asked."

The wall will come down before I beg anything of that bitch. Jaime's missing hand was throbbing, "Haven't you been paying attention, wench. It will be Stannis deciding my fate, not the Lady Catelyn of House Dead."

"He won't be. Stannis Baratheon is dead."

Jaime looked up at her so sharply his neck lurched, "What did you say?"

The wench never took her eyes from his, "There was a bird a fortnight past. When we came back from the Cape of Eagles last night, Lord Howland told Lady Catelyn that Stannis had been killed in seven days of battle, his host broken and fled."

Jaime began to laugh, again. This was too good to be true. He could not help but feel immense pleasure in knowing how the gods had kicked Lady Catelyn's plan to splinters. All this, Jaime's capture, the army, had been all for Stannis, so that she could get Winterfell from him, a safe seat if and for when she found her daughters. Still laughing, he asked the wench, "How many...., how many soldiers has your lady gathered by now."

"Nearly three and a half thousand." Brienne sighed, "At the Cape of Eagles we found almost four hundred northmen. Black Walder Frey had been hunting them from Seaguard, and they had banded together to oppose him better. It was one of the biggest group we had found so far."

Yes, and all that for nothing, Jaime thought. He almost wished that it were Lady Catelyn he were talking to right now, so he could laugh in her face. "What does Lady Catelyn mean to do now?" She had stopped the trickle of the broken northmen going back home through the swamps in here, to make an army for Stannis, "Does she mean to take the black too?"

But the wench apparently would not share her lady's plans, "It is not what she would do should concern you ser, but what you are going to do?"

Jaime shrugged, "Usually, the person you want ransom in exchange for slips from your hands, not the person you want the ransom from." He chuckled, "You think that now that Stannis is dead, The Lady Catelyn will kill me herself? You clearly have overestimated your Lady's power. Oh, to be sure, the outlaws will be thrilled to hang me, but it is Howland Reed that holds the real power here. This is his seat, and he is heading the army that has gathered here. He could have gathered this army even before Lady Stoneheart showed up, and could have tried to prevent Roose Bolton from entering the north to claim Winterfell, but he didn't. And I am not a Bolton, I am a Lannister." It was not that Jaime thought that the man was craven or anything, far from it. Howland Reed had accompanied Ned Stark to the Tower of Joy to face last of Jaime's sworn brothers in Aerys' kingsguard, and had been his only companion to come back alive. But he did not strike Jaime as a man who will take unnecessary risks.

The wench was not deterred though, "The power of the Lannisters is not what it was when you were captured ser, Lord Reed has had other birds also. There is an army invading the Stormlands, headed by Lord Jon Connington it is said. Storm's End has fallen to them.”

Jaime dismissed it with a wave of his crippled hand, though he did wonder, Jon Connington?  "My uncle will take care of them. He is the Lord Reagent now, isn't he?”

"He was." The wench replied, "Until they found him dead."

Jaime's happiness evaporated in an instant, "Dead? How?" he demanded.

"Murdered," The wench said, "They found him along with The Grand Maester with a quarrel in his chest. Mace Tyrell has taken over the Red Keep now."

A quarrel? Was Tyrion still in King's Landing? Bloody hell, what was happening? And she wants me to take the black? While my family lies endangered? He wondered if this was truly Tyrion's work, or was this Mace Tyrell's doing. His sister was also a suspect, he could not deny. She had felt Pycell to be worthless, and he had seemingly lifted not a finger to rescue her from the sparrows on her imprisonment. And Ser Kevan would have sent her back to Casterly Rock.

The wench was still talking, "A lot of people have died in the past few weeks. Stannis Baratheon, Kevan Lannister, Grand Maester Pycell. Oh, and Lord Robert Arryn has died as well, Lady Catelyn's nephew. The new lord is some boy with the name Hardying, and he has called his banners to whisk Lord Baelish out of the Eyrie. He may well turn his army on the Lannisters next, depending on who asks for his alliance first."

"What do you mean first?" Jaime said, irritated "there is only Jon Connington remaining in the field now isn't there? Or Lady Catelyn means to turn back south after taking Winterfell?"

The wench shook her head, "Yes, Lady Catelyn is going to be travelling north, to find the body of Stannis Baratheon... and bring him back to life if she can."

Jaime looked at her for a long time, "What did you mean that you may not have a choice. She is not going to let me go, even if I asked to take the black, which I am not going to. But you... you are neither of much use nor a threat to her anymore. If Storm's End has fallen, so has Tarth. Surely Lady Catelyn will understand if you asked to be let go to your father to guard him? You won't have to take the black then."

The wench gave him a wan smile, "Lady Catelyn might understand that, true." She stood up, "But, when I first swore her my sword, back when we were fleeing to Riverrun after Renly's death, she swore to me that she will not hinder me from killing Stannis if I ever got the chance" She put her hand on the dirk that was sheathed at her hip, "But I don't think she will understand it if I kill him now." With that she turned and went back the way she had come.


	13. Jon II

“Tormund has left Oakenshiel, my lord.” Alf of Runnymun told Jon. Jon nodded, “How many went with him?” Alf had been one of Bowen Marshe’s cronies, and Jon was hoping that giving him assignments will show that he did not bear grudges against him or any of Marshe’s other friends.

“Hard to be certain m’lord. Probably sixteen hundred.” Sixteen hundred! That was less than half of the wildlings that had passed beneath the wall since after King Stannis had come. “How many chose to stay? And who?”

“Fifty or so, but that’s only at Oakenshield. Many did not even come from the other castles. Horfrost Hill and Queensgate and such. Probably five or six hundred. Old men most, not many who can fight. Most of the fighting ones wanted the glory Selyse promised them.”

Jon grimaced. The glory Selyse had in mind for them was different than what the wildlings would try to achieve. If by whatever miracle Melisandre’s plan with Stannis worked, what was to stop the wildlings from descending on to the other houses of North besides the Boltons?

Alf was still talking, “There are probably a thousand more at Mole’s Town. Women and children mostly. Not many will join Tormund. Or maybe they might.”

If they do, I am doomed. The mountain clans might tolerate Selyse’s army marching through, but if they brought live baggage with them, it will come to blood. After Alf took his leave, Jon wondered for the umpteenth time about who would kill him? Will it be Ramsay Snow, after defeating Selyse, or will it be The Norrey or Old Flint, for loosing wildlings on their lands. Or maybe it will be King Stannis, if Melisandre actually awakens him, for kicking his child and wife out of Castle Black. He had thought making Tormund leave will make at least some of his problems go away, but the future seemed as bleak as ever.

Jon remembered his last meeting with Tormund Thunderfist. “Saving your own skin, that’s what you are doing, you fucking coward.” Tormund had snarled at him, spittle flying. Coward, he called me a coward. But Jon was more saddened than angry. Tormund had been a good friend. They had never fully trusted each other, but they understood each other. And now Tormund was accusing Jon of pulling the ground from under him. Jon had announced to all those who were concerned, namely queens men, the black brothers and the wildlings, that anyone between the age of twelve to fifty not wearing a black cloak was not welcome at the wall anymore. It was meant to force Tormund’s wildlings either leave with Selyse or take the black. Many had said the vows, but most had amassed at Oakenshield in the last week, hurling insults at the now heavily armed and alert Castle Black, to leave with their new queen. Tormund had accused Jon of trying to hide behind the wildlings, and that Jon could not deny. He had inadvertently helped Selyse find her improbable army only because that army would fight Ramsay Snow. What was more precious, lives of the wildlings, or the Night’s Watch? Although deep in his heart Jon knew he was only saving himself. The Night’s Watch will not die if the Bolton’s Basterd managed to arrive at the wall, only Jon will.

But it was not as if Jon could just go with Selyse. If he survived Bolton’s Basterd and then won Winterfell, how would he win back the respect of the Black Brothers, if it looked as if Jon had bowed to their pressure? They wanted him gone, and even Dolorous Edd Tolett felt all of these measures Jon was taking would turn to be fruitless. Better to hazard a chancy battlefield than an almost certain mutiny. But Tolett had never been a leader, nor will he ever be. A leader cannot be seen to cave to the pressure of those who he led. The moment he did, his authority has ended.

Jon sighed and looked up at Ghost entering his cabin. The white wolf padded silently towards Jon and lay at his feet. Does he feel my helplessness as well? Jon closed his eyes, and suddenly he could feel the heat of a body beside him, a familiar scent. He opened his eyes and stood up with a jerk. Ghost turned to him and bared his teeth. “You stay here.” Jon said uneasily and walked out of the room. It was happening more and more. He was warging into his wolf with more ease, almost compulsively, ever since he had woken up. Whenever the wolf was close, or even far. If Jon even thought of entering into the wolf’s consciousness, he would find himself on four feet in a world of rich scents. It may not have been so alarming before, but the fact that his death had started it, or made it stronger, worried Jon. What if he stays in the wolf’s body too long, or gets stuck, will his body die. That was how it had felt when he had died. Ghost had gone almost crazy, having Jon thrash inside him, trying to go back to his own body, trying to wake up.

Jon shook the thoughts out of his. He had climbed down from the armory, and could see Ser Denys coming up to him. Ser Denys’ help had been a pleasant and welcome surprise. Ser Denys had helped calm the black brothers when Jon finally had announced that he meant to stay. When the black brothers had not been as happy as Jon had wished after he announced the expulsion of wildlings, Ser Denys had offered to stay at Castle Black and help Jon make his rule on the Night’s Watch firm again. “They trust me.” He had said to Jon, “They don’t like many of your policies. But trust that I have good enough judgement. If I am seen beside you, they might be more tractable.” Maybe the old knight was just trying to get as many of the black brothers as he could by his side. That will help in an upcoming choosing if Jon ended up dying. But Jon needed as much help as he could get right now, and till now Mallister had proved good on his word.

Jon almost did not recognize the man accompanying Ser Denys. “Ser Glendon?” He asked, surprised. Had Arya already reached Eastwatch? “Have you brought my sister?” There was a girl clutching Ser Glendon’s arm, almost hiding behind him. Why is she hiding from me? “Arya?” He called, little sister!

But the girl Ser Glendon pulled to the front was not Arya. Her face was familiar, but it was not Arya. “Who?” He asked in confusion. Did Alys Karstark happen again? Where is Arya?

The girl shrunk back, whimpering. “Don’t worry child.” Ser Glendong said, “The Lord Commander does not hurt little girls.” Jon looked at him, remembering a kick in the belly. The girl was looking at him, her eyes big, her mouth trembling, “Jeyne?” He asked. Half her nose was gone from frostbite, but it was her. Sansa’s friend.

“Ye… Yes my lord!” The girl broke down, sinking to her knees, “Please forgive me.” She continued sobbing, like she would never stop.

“What is the meaning of this?” Jon asked Ser Glendon.

“Best we take this inside, m’lord.” Ser Glendon said. Jon let him lead the way, leaving Ser Denys outside. He did not understand. With all he had been going through, the thought of seeing Arya had been the only thing that kept him together, had given him courage. Even if I die, if could see to it that she was safe, smuggle her away from all those who would use her, it will be worth it. Many a time he had even toyed with the idea of running away with her. Snow and Stark, two bravo’s on the streets of Braavos with a direwolf. Him with his Longclaw and her with her needle and ghost with his claws, they would rule Braavos in the nights. He looked at the girl in front of him again, almost hoping that he had made a mistake in recognizing his own sister.

Inside Ser Glendon handed him a letter. It bore the Eastwatch’s seal, but the signature spelled Lord Davos Seaworth. Hand of the Queen. The message read.

_Lord Commander Snow, we have never met. But I hope you know who I am._

_I did not die, as you may have heard. Lord Manderley sent me to recover your brother Lord Rickon Stark from Skagos in exchange for his support to Stannis._

_The news of the king’s death was a blow to us, but I was glad to also find Lady Arya Stark at Eastwatch when we arrived. Only to find that Lord Rickon could not recognize her._

_We thought the boy simply did not remember, but the girl confessed. She is apparently a Lannister lie. A poor northern girl from your father’s household they falsely used to bind the houses of north to the Boltons._

_I understand that you are refusing to aid Selyse in her battle. I have no right to do this, but I find I must withhold your brother from you. I know you will not forgive me, but I must do right by my Queen. If you want to have a say in your brother’s future, I strongly advise you join Selyse._

_With Apologies._

_Davos Seaworth_

_Lord of the Rainwood_

_Hand of the Queen_

The letter made no sense to Jon. Finally after reading it three time, Jon closed his eyes and sat down on a chair. He felt Ghost slide his head on his lap and lick his hand, and the parchment. Does he miss his sister too, Nymeria? He caressed the wolf’s head and looked on the two people watching him. By now her sobbing had subsided, but Jeyne still looked frightened. He sent her with Satin to get something to eat. Then he addressed Ser Glendon, “Do you know what the letter said?”

“Aye. Ser Davos wrote it right in front of me.”

“Did you see my brother?”

“And his direwolf, Shaggydog. Not as big as your own, but big. And Black. Lord Davos wanted me to bring him to you, as proof. But the wolf wouldn’t leave the boy’s side. Took a bite of my hand.” He showed Jon the bandages. The wrappings could be fake, but the wolf’s behavior, that he could not have guessed. Nor Shaggydog’s name or color. “Where is Lord Seaworth now? Has he left Eastwatch to meet with Selyse?” If Ser Glendon had made it to Castle Black, Lord Seaworth has already approached Oakenshield. “Why didn’t you send a raven?” I could have freed Rickon myself.

Ser Glendon backed under the barrage of questions, “Lord Seaworth had more than two thousand skagosi, had I attempted to send a letter, he would have overrun Eastwatch. He did not threaten, but I understood as much.” He rubbed his chin, “It wouldn’t have done any good. Lord Davos is not joining the Queen. He had five Skagosi ships with him. Two he lent to Nestoris and Massey, who had been escorting Lady Arya, er, the girl to us. Rest he packed with his soldiers and left. I do not know where. I know however that he did not want to pick a fight with you that might leave both of you wounded before the battles.”

He might have ported further south, and joined Selyse. “Thank you Ser Glendon. Go find some ale to warm yourself.” Rickon was alive. Theon had killed him, but he was alive. Alive and sailing into danger. Jon slammed his fist on the table.

After a while, Ser Denys entered his room. “I am sorry about your sister my lord. And your brother.”

Jon grimaced. If Ser Denys knew, then all of Castle Black knew. No doubt Ser Glendon had brought a few companions with him who had seen Lord Davos. “Queen Selyse is not very far, you should go as soon as you can.”

Jon looked at him. “You seem very certain that I mean to go.”

“I have a confession to make my lord.” Ser Denys said, looking into Jon’s eyes. “I only supported your orders because Queen Selyse asked me to on Lady Melisandre’s behalf”

“What do you mean?” Those two women always had an agenda, it seemed.

“The queen said that the red women had seen you riding with them. Now I don’t believe in such things, but what she said made sense. Queen Selyse said that if you decide to leave with her, you could give the command of the Night’s Watch to me. Had I not been here, and you decided to march, you would have had to give the command to someone that was opposing your stay in the first place, making your return impossible. But if you give the command to me, who has supported, it will look like your decision, and not like you were forced out. That way, when you come back, you can take back the command and still command the respect of the Night’s Watch.”

Jon gritted his teeth. Was no one here his friend? “I doubt Selyse will let me come back ser.”

“You wrong her, I think. If not Selyse, at least Melisandre will want you back here, after her king is awakened. She knows that only you have what it takes to lead the Night’s Watch against the wights in these times. I myself disagree with a lot of your policies, like giving Stannis castles, executing Janos Slynt. But I will have no other Lord Commander than you.”

“And yet you will have me leave my post and ride south.”

“Only for a while, my lord. If you want to live, you must go. Selyse cannot fight Boltons without your help in winning the houses of the North. When she fails, Ramsay Snow will only continue to Castle Black.”

Why was he even arguing with Ser Denys? Even if the knight had confessed to dishonesty, Jon knew from the moment he had finished talking with Ser Glendon what he was going to do.

He reached the wildling army a week and half later. It had taken him two days to be satisfied that the wall will be all right without him. It had been hard to trust Mallister, but what choice did Jon have. After repeating what he wanted done in his absence, like overseeing taking of the vows by the women at Long Barrow and restoring of the castles, Jon had finally set out. Satin had wanted to come, and Iron Emmet and some others had also offered their swords to him. But he had refused, and told them to hold the wall in his absence. In the end, only Ghost was keeping him company.

There was not much need to hurry, since he could not possibly intercept Rickon even if Lord Davos had sent him to Selyse. Jon gave a wide berth to Mole’s town as he passed, not wanting to draw attention to himself when he was without a guard. He struck south-east from Queenscrown.

Half a day’s ride from Last Hearth, beside the edge of the wolfswood, Jon spied an escort from Melisandre. Further, the army was encamped outside the castle. It was in more order than Jon had seen them to be when they had been following Mance Rayder through milkwater. Ser Axell Florent let him through rugged rows of patched tents. They came across a few familiar faces, but none seemed friendly. Soren Shieldbreaker spat on seeing him. Ygon Old-father shouted for his great grandsons to get away from the path, all the while glaring at Jon.  _I need to sleep with Longclaw close by_ , Jon thought, grimacing.

He had visited Last Hearth once with Bran and his father. The castle seemed large to him now, but maybe it was because the only castle he had seen in the last two years was Castle Black. He remembered the path that Ser Axell led him on. He was being taken to the Lord’s Chamber, called the Giant Chamber.

Inside, they found The Queen and the Red women, with Crowfood Umber and Artos Flint. Tormund was there as well. None seemed surprised to see him. “Welcome Lord Snow.” Queen Selyse addressed him “Did you finish your business at the wall?”

“Aye my lady. I have left Ser Denys in command.” Ser Axell had coached him on the way to pretend as if meant to aid Selyse from the start, ever since the Ramsay Snow had written and threatened to cut out and eat his heart. Letting the houses of the north know that the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch was riding besides Selyse just to keep the family he had forsaken safe would have met with much protest over his role. So Jon had had to agree. He could see that Tormund was not happy with this. The wildling’s mouth made a thin line beneath his bushy beard.

“We have great news for you my lord.” Melisandre rose from her chair and came to him, another letter in her hand, “We were dismayed when Lord Davos did not send your brother to us. But it would seem Lord Davos knew what he was doing.” She handed him the letter. “The letter has just arrived, and was a great help in securing the alliance of the Umbers. Lord Davos has taken The Dreadfort. And Bolton’s bastard has changed his course and is now heading towards him.”


	14. The Black Hand

Jon Connington had known Storm’s End in his youth. Sometimes when the lord of the castle came back from his foster home in the vale, Jon had visited him, to bend his knee and acquaint with each other. Back then, Jon had been one of the most famed fighter in the Stormlands, and a friend of the Prince of Dragonstone. Ser Stannis Baratheon, the Castellan of Storm’s End in Robert’s absence had known this and knew how to respect such a position, even if he was somewhat stiff in manner. Robert was a drunk sod even in his youth however, and courtesy was a game for him. Jon had never looked forward to his visits to either of the Baratheon brothers.

Yet, his visits had helped him in his conquest of the said castle. True, his memory was foggy, yet he remembered many of the murder holes and passages. He had been the first to ride inside the gates which Ser Gilbert Farring had so foolishly opened, and the first to draw blood. The fighting had been short and bloody, yet Jon had suffered only two hundred dead. “A victory to sing of.” Black Balaq had announced afterwards. And Jon could not help but smile.

Yet even this was not enough for the Dornish Princess. “Nothing will give my father more joy than to see his beloved sister’s son on his rightful place on the Iron Throne. But the world believes him dead.” She told them, at the start of the council.

Jon had written to Dorne before making for Storm’s End. Beseeching them for help for Aegon’s dead mother’s sake. He knew that Doran Martell would not give much heed to a supposedly dead sellsword’s words, and had hoped that his victory at Storm’s End would make Dorne take them more seriously, and not just as adventurers. His plan had worked. Dorne had sent them an envoy. It just did not contain who Jon was hoping for.

Nor were they who Dorne were hoping for. “We were waiting for a dragon.” The princess told them, “But yours is of the wrong gender.” Dorne had sent them its heir. A great honor and a potential promise. But if Doran Martell had intended to unleash his forces that were camped in the Dornish marches for the better part of two years, he would have sent someone to lead them in battle. He might have sent his son, Prince Quentyn. Women were at best fit for parleys.

Jon had taken care not to show any disappointment however, and had instructed Aegon and Haldon on the same. “My aunt has fallen in love with the Slaver’s Bay.” Aegon told her. “Time to strike is now, we ourselves could not wait any longer.” Jon added. “While the Seven Kingdoms are rife with rebellion and discontent. If Daenerys wishes to join us, we will be glad to welcome her.”

“By the time Daenerys reaches here, you will not be alive. King’s Landing has sent an army against you.” Martell told them. Arianne Martell was a beautiful and curvaceous dornishwomen, prone to smiles and flattery. Yet she seemed very much her father’s daughter, “Stormlanders and Reach men 8000 strong are making their way down the Kingsroad even now, under the command of your own nephew. Red Ronnet will put a siege on Storm’s End, and starve you out.”

Jon had not known of any army yet. He looked at Haldon, but he only shook his head. Aegon addressed the princess, “We did not know of any army. But we do not mean to be confined to a castle. Red Ronnet will see us on the battle ground. Hopefully with you.”

“The alliance of Dorne is not a fruit given away lightly.” She said with a smile, “We have no proof you are who you say you are.”

“What proof can we give you that will convince you?” Haldon asked her. “I do not think Prince Doran will take the testimony of Varys the Spider as trustworthy. And there was no one else involved. Dorne no doubt knows the need of secrecy.”

“We do.” She allowed. “But you can prove it to me on the battlefield. Rhaegar’s son would no doubt be an able fighter.”

“In less than four weeks we have made Stormlands from Cape Wrath to Storm’s End ours.” Jon answered her. “If the princess would like to know our prowess, she might want to consider that we took Storm’s End, One of the most formidable castles in the Seven Kingdoms, with less than two hundred casualties.”

“You took Cape Wrath from sleeping peasants. And Storm’s End from a dead king.” Princess Arianne said almost dismissively, “True, the feat is commendable, but you are a little late. Stannis took this same castle with only a single death, after defeating Renly, who had fifty times his strength in numbers. Dorne did not declare for him then, why would we declare for you?”

Jon felt that it was time for a different tactic. “Because Stannis Baratheon was the brother of the person who killed Rhaegar, and was responsible for Elia’s murder, however indirectly. We are offering you a chance at vengeance, at justice. The Lannisters and the Tyrells also killed Prince Oberyn, do you not want vengeance for your uncle.”

“One of my cousins, a daughter of Prince Oberyn, sits on Tommen’s small council. Another has joined the swords and stars under the new high septon. Dorne is working towards justice and vengeance without your help my lords. However, the Lannisters have also betrothed Princess Myrcella to my brother Trystane. Such a match is not so easily thrown away, as you would have us do.” She looked at Aegon, “My father was inclined to offer you my hand in marriage in exchange for our alliances, but now we know that you mean to wait for Daenerys.”

Aegon looked at Jon, uncomfortable. “If the princess wants us to find a match for her, we could, in due course of war…”

Arianne laughed, “No my lord, although I thank you for the offer, I can find my own husband. What I want is for you to prove that you can win.” She looked at all three of them, “My father sent me here to counsel you, and help you in any way I can without raising suspicions in King’s Landing that may endanger my cousins. But if you want Dorne to openly declare for you, you must prove that you are more than a gaggle of sellswords with a feigned boy and a once defeated lord leading them. You must prove that you can win.”

Prove to her we can win. Jon thought after he saw the Princess and her shield Ser Deizel Dalt to their chambers. “We must win against your nephew, my lord.” Haldon said to him gravely. Jon nodded, “Tell Black Balaq to take hundred men with him as scouts and find out as much as he can about this army.”

“Shall I call a war council as well?”

“Yes, in an hour. We will meet in the Lord’s Solar.”

Back in his chamber, the king’s hand pulled of his gloves. The name The Black Hand came to his mind. Is that what they will call me? All his fingers of his right were grey by now. When he touched them, he could only feel pressure, no touch. All the nails were black on the right hand, and two on his left. Good thing it was winter, or men would have questioned why he was always wearing gloves. Jon was trying to minimize his contact with the king, lest the sickness pass from him to the boy. But it was not always possible. Only an hour later they were side by side in the war council, debating how to answer their first real challenge. _I need to win Aegon true friends before I go._ He thought, and if he had to ride against his own family for that, he will do what was needed to be done.

They set out towards the coming army the next day, leaving the Dornish Princess back.

Haystack Hall was a moat and baily castle. Some said it was the oldest castle in the stomlands. Sheltered by the kingswood from the storms, the legend said that at the very first it had been made of hay and straw and tree branches. Hence came the name Haystack Hall. It was all stone now, however. Someone had burned the hay and straw castle, but no one had burned the name.

Even made of stone though, it was not a strong castle. The lord of the castle had apparently been wise enough to know that, and as Jon's army had approached, he had put his own castle to torch and moved his strength north to join the force Jon's nephew was leading.

When he reached the castle gates, he saw that his nephew and his party were already here. Leaving his men out of earshot, his nephew came forward. Ser Ronnet Connington was a big and husky man. Red beard and red hair just like Jon, though Jon was clean-shaven. "Uncle" He said in greeting, "It is good to finally see you. I have grown up listening stories about you."

Jon's face darkened. But he was taken aback by the accusation in Red Ronnet's eyes. He does not speak like a man with intent to fight. "Nephew, unless you mind your tongue, you will stop listening altogether."

Red Ronnet laughed in his face, "Still arrogant my lord? Wasn't that what cost you everything in the first place? But you are right. I should not speak to my uncle like that. Not yet at least. Our talks haven't even begun. Let us remedy that. Send your White Knight away. We have family matters to discuss, and he is not family, unless he is your bastard?"

Jon scowled and sent Duck away. Duck went reluctantly. He had been sent by the King to hear of the proceedings. The boy had been angry that he was not invited to the parley. "Does your nephew think me too young to understand such matters?" He had Jon asked angrily. But finally he had relented, when Jon had made the same argument about the family matters that his nephew had just spoken of. So now the two of them stood alone in front of the burned castle, to determine whether they were going to take up swords against each other.

Once Duck was out of earshot, Red Ronnet turned to Jon, "Making White Knights already? Only the king on the Iron Throne has White Knights. Even Renly made Rainbow Knights, and he had a much better chance to win the throne than you."

"Renly Baratheon was a traitor. What he did does not concern me. Aegon is the rightful king of Westeros, and only he has any right to have White Knights. Have you come to me to argue about history and rights? Well, you should have told me so. I would have brought my maester." Haldon was no true maester, and he was on Storm's End besides, but his nephew did not know that.

"No" He answered, "I have not come to argue about history and rights with you, I have come to discuss your chances of winning the Iron Throne. They seem pretty slim to me uncle."

"So did Robert's to me until the Battle of the Bells."

His nephew laughed again. "Oh, do you think you can win this battle. No doubt you thought so at Stoney Sept as well! I have more men than you do uncle. But you had more men then Robert did. So maybe you will beat me. And then when Mace Tyrell or Randyll Tarly come down on you, why, your battered force will flee back to Storm's End where you will be put under a siege. Mace Tyrell loves to put Storm's End under siege, don't you know? And you are no Stannis Baratheon, to have a Ned Stark rush to your rescue. And if I win this battle, it will be me putting you under the siege. Sure, you have my children as hostages, but they are in the hands of sellswords who will sell them to me quickly enough for a pot of gold or two once they see you losing. What were you thinking, taking Storm's End? You will be able to survive a year or two, true, but from inside you will not make any allies. You will be starved out."

There was so much conviction in Red Ronnet's speech that Jon almost couldn't breathe for a moment. Just a moment though. Wars were not that easy, and if Red Ronnet had truly believed it all true he would not have invited his uncle for a talk. "If you are so convinced, why don't you sound the attack?"

Red Ronnet Connington snorted, "Why _would_ I sound the attack? What do I gain by defeating you? The love of the Lannisters and the Tyrells? They don't seem to have any to offer. And it seems they don't even have the money any more, they are not being able to pay Robert's debts, d'you know? Besides, there rule is a disaster waiting to happen, now that Ser Kevan is dead. You must have heard of the twin trials. The Lannister bitch and the Fat Flower squabble over the boy king even as an army invades their kingdom, what could be worse than that. And you can count on the fact that I am not the only man in the Seven Kingdoms to have realised this. Ser Jaime is also lost. Riverlanders have given hostages to King's Landing and probably won't rise for you, but I hear that Robert Arryn has died at Lord Littlefinger’s hands, and the new lord has called his banners to root him out of the Eyrie. I suppose he might join you, in exchange of help in escaping Littlefinger's rule that has been imposed on them by King's Landing. We have also felled a letter to you by Euron Greyjoy offering his allegiance. He styles himself King of the Iron Isles and the North, but is willing to drop it if you consent to name him Lord Admiral. And the plan he puts forth is good. Nor am I anxious to wage war upon one of mine own blood. But you must be suspecting most of this ever since I invited you here. You just want my terms. So I will just state them to you bluntly, nephew to uncle. I want Griffin's Roost, its lands restored just as they were in your father's time."

Jon stared at him, "Griffin's Roost is mine by right of birth as well as conquest and I mean to keep it. If you want it, you will have to take it from me."

"Take it I shall" Red Ronnet said languidly, "but preferably as a gift from a loving uncle to a loyal nephew." He sighed at Jon's expressions, "What will you do with Griffin's Roost my lord. Sit in the hall dispensing the king's justice? Hunt in the kingswood? Marry some wench and plant heirs in her belly? Those heirs would do much better as the lords of Storm's End, don't you think?"

Jon blinked, "Storm's End?"

"Belongs to Baratheons, I know. Yet it was the Baratheons that overthrew the Targaeryns. Don't tell me you mean let them live. Do that and they will be the first to rise should any rebellion start in future. They might even lead them." Red Ronnet shrugged, "But may be it does not matter. All the Baratheons are dead. Robert and Renly have been dead for almost two years. And Stannis is dead too. Surely you know this by now." Jon did indeed know of that. "Tommen and Myrecella you are planning to kill, no boubt. Stannis has a grotesque of a daughter, to be sure, but Bolton will probably kill her too, or winter will. After her, by the right of birth, Storm's End will pass probably to some Estermont or some Florent, but I know how sellswords work. They will want the choicest prizes for their own after the victory, and Storm's End is one of them. So, is it your wish to see some Strickland or Peage or Byrne as the lord of Storm's End? Just imagine my lord, a Connington as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, from Kingswood to the Dornish Marches. A Griffin dancing over the walls of Storm's End and Griffin's Roost alike. Don't tell me the picture isn't tempting."

It was not tempting! It was not tempting at all! Death is creeping up my arm. I have at most a year or two to live, and this man is talking of heirs. Ever since he had been exiled, Jon Connington had not even thought of heirs. "I do not want Storm's End. Instead, I will name you my heir, heir to Griffin's Roost."

Red Ronnet scowled, "And what of your children?"

I will not live long enough to father children. "I already have a son, and him I am going to place on the Iron Throne. If you accept this, then tell me what you offer me in return."

His nephew gave him a long look, but did not answer the question with a question, "This army behind me" he said, gesturing, "Is what I offer you. This, and half the lords of the Stormlands.”


	15. Tyreion II

Ben’s jolly face was creased with anxiety. “Damn it, Ben.” Tyrion snapped, “Show some trust in me. I signed the papers didn’t I? My signature is in your book, in blood. A Lannister pays his debts. Where would I even go if I desert?”

“The dwarf will be useless in battlefield.” Ser Jorah said in a tone that clearly said he did not care a fig about what Ben decided. “He will be better used in the council. Skahaz still has a shitload of problems. The mob, the empty pyramids. The pale mare. Yollo has ruled the King’s Landing before.”

“You yourself say we cannot reveal it to them.” Brown Ben complained. The Second Sons were marching, or rather, riding, and Tyrion Lannister did not want to join them. He had had more than enough of battlefield. Ben did not want to leave him behind though, for fear he might desert. “The council does not trust us. Why will they let one of us on the council?”

“Tell them that the trenching was my idea.” Tyrion said. It was the truth. “Ser Barristan is leaving today, so we can even tell Skahaz who I am, after the knight leaves. The Shavepate has no cause to kill me just because I am a Lannister.”

“Leave him Ben.” Inkpots said. “And me with him.” Inkpots was down with fever. At least he did not have the shits. “Give us some soldiers to bolster the Brazen Beasts in Meereen. We will only be distractions to you in Yunkai.”

Finally Brown Ben nodded. “Fine. But I expect you to keep a close eye on Yollo here.” He said to Inkpots. “And you,” He turned to Tyrion, “Selmy won’t trust me anymore. So win Skahaz’s trust.”

“Yes my lord.” Tyrion smiled winningly. I will win his trust, but not for you.

“Come.” Ben said, rising. “Our men are assembled at the gates. I will give you twenty.”

Today Ser Barrstan was about to start the march south towards Yunkai. He led five thousand unsullied, along with the Stromcrows and the Second Sons and the free company the Mother’s Men. The army totaled about nine thousand, more than enough for a weakened and underdefended Yunkai. Ser Jorah had told Tyrion that Selmy had wanted to lessen the number of swords in the cities. What with the mob and the impending famine. Thus Selmy was taking a little less than a third of the swords from Meereen.

More would depart on the morrow with the Iron Fleet. Ser Jorah was to sail with them. The Second Sons were riding with Ser Barristan, but Ser Barristan had needed a check on Victarion Greyjoy, and he could find only Ser Jorah suitable for the job. Ben had agreed, eager to soothe the tensions between the Second Sons and the ruling council of Meereen. The Iron Fleet would take the Ironmen, and the remaining of the unsullied under Ser Jorah and the Stalwart Shields and the sellsword company The Windblown. They were to keep an eye on the Volantene fleet and New Ghis. The danger of the Volantene fleet returning with Quartheen soldiers, or a fleet from New Ghis was the reason of the five thousand soldiers that Victarion Greyjoy was taking.

At the gates Kaspario came trotting up to them. “You came right on time.” He addressed Plumm, “Naharis is trying to put us in the rear.”

Rear meant that the Stormcrows will get to the plunder first. “I will handle him.” Plumm said, “I need you to find twenty men. Danny’s dead isn’t he? His and Maro’s will suffice. Our Lord Lannister will be their new sergeant.”

In the end, they got twenty eight men, eight more than Plumm had promised. Kaspario was none too pleased with the development, nor was the Myrish sellsword Maro, but Plumm silenced them. “You need to hide.” He told Tyrion, just as his command had gathered, “Selmy is coming this way.”

Tyrion was not sure why he had been hiding from Selmy, but something in his gut had made him convince Brown Ben and Ser Jorah to keep his presence in Meereen a secret. His brothers in the company gathered around him, hiding him from the white knight’s view as they made their way back to the city. Maybe after I sufficiently help Skahaz Mo Kandaq in ruling the city, Selmy might trust me enough to let me keep my head. And what will it take for Daenerys to forget the blood between Lannisters and Targaryn? For that Tyrion had no answer.

As they entered the city, Tyrion looked around him. The men that he was supposed to command were all strangers to him, faces known only by sight. “Lem.” He called, recognizing the boy. Good, some familiar ground. “Sargent.” Lem came to him, almost making Tyrion smile. Sargent Tyrion had a nice ring to it, better than Yollo, or no-nose. “Ride beside me.” He told the boy, “And introduce me to whom you know.”

Tyrion would have thought that the men would be loath to take orders from a dwarf. But the sellswords were only mildly insolent as they introduced themselves to him. _Sellswords have almost no pride._ Tyrion thought, _Or maybe they are just happy to get a commander that they can betray easily._ But maybe it was the fact that many of them knew who he really was, or had heard some rumours.

The introductions were interrupted as they were passing near the Temple of Graces. A commander of the brazen beasts with the mask of a weasel came to challenge them. “Brother let us pass.” Tyrion said in his broken ghiscari. “We are the Second Sons, left here by Lord Plumm to help you keep the peace.”

The commander seemed to know of the appointment. Ben had informed Skahaz that he was leaving twenty men behind. “Who is your commander?” The weasel asked them.

“You are speaking to him.” Tyrion answered, ignoring the few chuckles behind him.

The weasel himself snorted, “Am I. Well, you are just in time. The mob has broken inside the Temple of the Graces. We could use your help. Or at least that of your men.”

 _If only it were me who had the dragons._ He let the slights pass. “Our swords are at your service. Lead the way.”

The mob was there, as the weasel had said, although they had not yet broken in. More than a hundred men were gathered near the steps in front of the main doors. Those in the back were throwing rocks at the windows upstairs, or torches. A second story window had flames whipping out of them. The men in the front were trying to break down the doors. The weasel himself had been posted as a guard on the doors, but he had fled when the chanting mob had turned violent. “Spear butts.” Tyrion commanded his men. “Use swords only if you lose your spear, but cut only at limbs. We want no deaths. Capture some to be flogged. Lem, Jhomo and Tom stay here with me.” He thanked the gods when they obeyed without a fuss.

The mob scattered quickly. Some tried to put up a fight, but these were not the men protesting against the ruling council, and had no interest in fighting their queen’s soldiers. “They are not enemies of the queen.” The weasel pointed out. “Maybe we shouldn’t flog them.” “Breaking down of order cannot go unanswered.” Tyrion told him. “Take them into the squares and see to the punishment. I will see if the Graces are okay.” He left the weasel before he could protest against the order.

Inside, he found a couple of frightened women and some moaning, sick people. The fire upstairs was extinguished, the Green Grace herself told him. She was an old and wizened women, reminding Tyrion of Lady Olenna Tyrell from back in King’s Landing. But where the Lady of Thorns had a sharp tongue and sharper wit, Galazza Galare was a kind old women. “Poor men,” She said, indicating the mob outside, “I hope you won’t be too harsh with them.”

“They tried to burn the temple down, Your Wisdom, surely you want to see some punishment.”

“They are just misled men.” The old women sighed and closed her eyes. “Is there any pain greater than to watch your children grow to hate you? Those people outside, they are all harpy’s sons. We all are. You cannot turn your back on your mother.”

“They have a new mother. Daenerys.” There were two types of mobs in Meereen as of now. One, comprised of noblemen and their supporters denouncing the ruling council and Daenerys and her dragons, while the others were denouncing the ancient Harpy of the Ghiscari people. “I have heard that there was even talk of worshipping dragons.”

“Dragons were doom for my people in the centuries of old. I have heard more talk of the Red God, however.” She sniffed, “That Moqorro, Benero’s pet has arrived with the ironmen. He has been lighting nightfires all over the city for the past week.”

Moqorro? That’s a surprise, “The ironmen will leave on the morrow.”

“That won’t stop the nightfires, there are other red priests in Meereen. Until now, they kept to themselves, but now they have gotten bold.” Shaking her head, she took Tyrion’s leave.

Outside, Tyrion saw that Ser Jorah had reached them. “Ser Barristan has left." He told Tyrion. As they stood there watching the flogging, Tyrion said to Mormont, “I lose faith in gods at least two times a day. But this is the first time I have seen so many people turning against their own gods.”

“Harpies started slavery in this world.” Ser Jorah said, “Even the valyrians, who spread slavery across Essos learned it from the Ghiscari they conquered. This is the first time the slaves have gotten any say in the matter. I think Wobblecheek’s speech is to blame for this. When the harpies failed to see to Meereen’s demise during the battle, the slaves found new confidance.”

Tyrion nodded, “Well, as long as they are only denouncing the harpies, and not the dragons…” He turned abruptly to the knight, “You didn’t tell me about Morroqo.”

The knight frowned, “Tell you what about him? Why do you care?”

 _He might know about Griff and Young Griff._ “If I am to sit on the council, I should know the people in the city.” He cocked his head. “That was why you convinced Ben to let me stay, wasn’t it?”

Mormont scowled, twisting his tattoo. “Aye. But mark my words, dwarf. I will be coming back from New Ghis. And if I find you have sabotaged my queen’s city…”

“You will crush my neck in those bear hands of yours.” Tyrion said in a bored tone. “Have no fear Ser, I do not intend to meet my father so soon. Not until I am Lord of Casterly Rock. And for that, I need Daenerys’ trust. Meereen will be safe in my hands as a clam is safe in a shell.”

The Iron Fleet sailed the next evening. Before leaving, Jorah Mormont took Tyrion to the great pyramid, to occupy his quarters. No more fighting for beds in barracks, Tyrion thought, and he meant to keep it that way. Now if only I could get rid of Penny. He called Lem, “Tell them she can cook.” He told him. To Penny he said, “Learn how to cook from them, and maybe the queen will someday take you into her service.” After she was gone, Tyrion took a bath. It had been a long time since he had been on a council, and he wanted to at least smell good.

The next few days Tyrion spent overseeing the trenching of the land around Meereen. “A trusted advisor.” Ser Jorah had told Skahaz, to Tyrion’s surprise. Mormont had told the Shavepate how it had been Tyrion’s idea to distribute the food coming from the Lamb Men into Meereen as wages for creating farmlands around Meereen.

The idea had come to him when Ser Jorah had told Tyrion how Lhazosh had agreed to trade only with Meereen. On Tyrion’s advice, the Ruling Council had bought all the food with money from the Queen’s treasury, and had commissioned the digging of trenches all around the city. Till now, Meereen had traded in slavery, but now they needed a new trade. From history, Tyrion knew that before the dragons had come, the Ghiscari had been farmers and tillers just like everyone else. “The fertile soil is still there, only buried deep in the ground. It’s the rainy season. If we have workmen digging trenches, the water will soften the ground as they go down. Snows will cover the new soil in the winter and stop it from flying away in storms. In the summer, Meereen will have acres of farmland.” They were digging a lake near the foothills of Khyzai pass as well, hoping for a forest.

There were other problems in the city however. The empty pyramids were the foremost of all. “The offshoots of the slaver families over the years form the upper class of the Meereen’s commoners.” The Shavepate explained to them in one council session. “They are demanding the restoration of the remaining children of the pyramids.” After the battles, the ruling council had executed almost all the adults of the slaving families. The children remained, and the more traditional Meereenes were taking their case.

The council seemed to Tyrion as if singularly ill equipped to handle a city. With the leaving of two armies, the ruling council had shrunk considerably. Ser Barristan had invited all of the queen’s allies inside the city to the council, but most of them had now left the city. The pit fighter Goshor, who had been made to stay in the city by his fellow pit fighters, was loud and brash, and addressed every question as an enemy. All his solutions ended in a sword. The commander of the Free Brothers, the only free company remaining in Meereen besides the Brazen Beasts, Symon Stripeback was a former slave, and his disdain and hatred for the slavers severely clouded his judgement. Hero commanded the remaining unsullied in the city, and spoke only when spoken to, and Inkpots was totally uninterested in the matters of the state. And as for, the head of the council, The Shavepate was a hard cruel man. He knew politics, but if he had his way, he would only end up making more and more enemies for himself.

It fell to Tyrion to make them see sense. He helped them see that marrying the children of the pyramids to prominent freedmen or the queen’s supporters, and bestowing the pyramids on them was the best solution. Even in the slaving families, there was a hierarchy of nobles, Tyrion had understood. “Marry the daughters from the more noble families to the freedmen, former slaves.” He advised, “And the daughters of the smaller pyramids can wed men from the pyramids of Galare and Kandaq.” These were the two pyramids that had not rebelled during the battle. “That way, we can have a nice mixture of freedmen and Meereenese nobles as the noblemen of the New Era.”

The Shavepate scowled at the name New Era. The name was becoming popular in the mob denouncing the harpies. “We must not use that name.” He growled, “We do not need to be seen supporting the enemies of the gods.”

“These enemies of the gods are the ones who call Daenerys mhysa.” Symon Stripeback pointed out. “I know we are changing the subject from the empty pyramids, but it is time we have a firm position on the subject. The more pious Meereenese are accusing us of ignoring blasphemy, while the more moderates are just sick of the mobs.”

Skahaz threw up his hands. “I am trying not to make them an enemy. Do you want me to set my Beasts up our own supporters?”

“Why not give them our support, and see to it that they do not need to form mobs anymore?” Tyrion said.

The council all looked at him. The Shavepate is incredulous, he thought. Goghor the giant and Symon are amused, while Hero does not care. “You mean to abolish the gods?” Shavepate asked.

“They are not mine to abolish. But their own people don’t want much to do with them already. They are the symbols of slavery throughout the world. Commoners put more faith in gods than in their rulers. If we get the gods to our sides, we could save a deal of trouble with the people. The red god will be my choice. The priests are already popular with the people.”

“It will only start trouble with the people.” Skahaz growled. “We cannot change the religion of an entire city.”

“We can, if we take care to only raise those to the pyramids that will support the red god. We can do the same in Yunkai.” Ser Barristan had taken Yunkai, the message had arrived yesterday. “We intend to rule Yunkai from here, let us make the same marriages in the yellow city as well.”

“Meereen and Yunkai can accommodate only half of their nobility through this marriages.” Symon pointed out. “We have maybe twenty or twenty five pyramids, and the would children number towards sixty, add to those noblemen from Yunkai.”

“Not all of them will get pyramids.” Hero said, “Also, the pyramids can hold five to six families.”

“Still, it will not be enough.”

“Astapor.” Inkpots said suddenly. The council stared at him. It was the first time he had talked in any session. After getting over the shock of seeing him speak, Tyrion understood his meaning. “Why Inkpots, aren’t you cleaver? You ought to speak more. He is right.” He turned to the council, “The ride of the pale mare has ended in Meereen. It will be ended in Astapor too. We should start restoring it. We are already overpopulated here in Meereen. We can move some people to Astapor as well.”

“Aye,” Goghor said smiling. “It will be the third city in our empire.”

“Empire?” The Shavepate snarled, wiping the smile off of everyone’s space, “Stop building sandcastles in the air. All you will end up doing is creating more problems. We need…”

The doors of the council chambers crashed open, and a brazen beasts hurried in. The council fell silent. “Sorry to disturb my lords. A message has arrived.” He addressed the round table. “It’s about the dragons.”

The dragons had vanished after Ser Barristan had marched off to Yunkai. Meereenese had started celebrating the disappearance as well as worrying about their mother’s dragons. “Where are they?” The Shavepate asked.

The courier hesitated. “They appeared suddenly above the Iron Fleet one day, Ser Jorah wrote. They were too close to New Ghis. Viserion has been shot down.”


	16. Margaery II

“A letter just arrived. Red Ronnet destroyed the pretender’s army and is marching towards Storm’s End.” Margaery told her brother.

Loras smiled, and then winced. Margaery couldn’t help but look away. Loras spoke, “I know I am hard to look at…” But she shushed him, her eyes filling with tears, “It’s not how you look. It’s how you suffer.” She tried to take his hands in her own, but accidently touched a blister. His wince sent her running from his room, sobbing.

Ser Loras had returned to King’s Landing a day ago. And she almost couldn’t recognize him. He who had once been so handsome. All the girls she had known had lost their hearts to him. But now… She had once seen a burn wound, when a kitchen maid’s clothes had caught fire back in Highgarden. Her skin had blistered from her right breast to her right elbow. Five years later, she had only a reddish ting on an otherwise smooth skin. But Maester Ballabar said that Ser Loras was too badly burned for his skin to heal completely. He will have scars from his head to his amputated toes. Oh, how could the gods have let that bitch Cersei win her trial?

In her chambers, Alla and Elinor were playing cyvasse. When they saw her red eyes, they rose. “What happened?” Alla asked. “Nothing.” Margaery shook her head, not wanting to talk about it. “I just went to see Loras.”

Her cousins didn’t say anything. They understood. Margaery remembered how all of them had cried when they had seen the extent of Ser Loras’ yesterday. “We had to amputate two of his toes of his right leg.” Maester Lomys told them, “The boiling oil had collected there for far too long. The corruption would crawled up his legs.” Loras also had wounds from the crossbow bolts in his thigh and his chest. The broken ribs had healed, but he still had difficulty standing up, and breathing. His face was in patches of red and black, and covered in blisters. Her cousins had been spared the sight, but Margaery had seen that the same was true for his torso and his legs.

After Elinor defeated Alla, Margaery sat in front of Elinor. Her older cousin had more of a head for the game than Margaery, but Margaery thought that if she pictured Elinor’s dragon as Cersei, she might just win.

Halfway through the game, Megga came in. “Your grace.” She called, but Margaery held up a hand, she was so close to the dragon. “It’s urgent.” Megga said, “Ser Lambert wants to meet you.”

Margaery looked at her cousin. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Mark told me that Ser Lambert asked him to ask you. He said it’s urgent.”

She looked at her cousins. “Your father does not want us to meet with him.” Elinor warned.

Margaery nodded. After the trial, Lord Mace had not wanted any of the accused anywhere near Margaery and her cousins. But Margaery had pointed out that the accused were now certain enemies of Cersei, and enemy of my enemy is my friend. So her father had allowed Ser Hugh and Ser Bayard to stay in her household guard, while Ser Mark Mullendore and Ser Tallad the Tall were betrothed to her cousins. He had drawn a line at Lambert Turnberry, however. Even affronted, he was a knight of the westerlands, with a keep too near Lannisport to betray Casterly Rock. “Dress him in Tom’s clothes.” Margaery told Megga, “Ser Mark can deliver them to him. I have to go to the council in the evening. He can escort me.” In Tyrell armor, surrounded by her trusted guards, her father will never know it was a westerner.

Tom came in before she was leaving. He was now dressed as a common servant. “Stay in my chambers. Don’t go out.” She told him. “Will and Krag will be just outside.” She kissed him and left. Tom was afraid, she knew. He was a boy from a brothel in Oldtown. Her cousin Elinor had brought him for her in secret when she had once visited her grandparents in Oldtown. When she left Highgarden for her wedding with Renly, Loras had asked her if she wanted some special servant brought for her. She had read the question plain, and had him bring Tom. Tom was already in on the secret. He was convenient.

After almost a year together though, Margaery had grown quiet affectionate towards him. Guising him as one of her guards had been Loras’ idea, and that itself had proven his undoing. When her father had taken the castle from the Lannisters, he had taken her guards with him. Tom was no soldier, but he had acted the part. “I cannot kill again.” He had said to her, shivering, remembering. “I have killed two people.” He had begged her to let him go.

She had calmed him down, however. The reach was not a safe place right now, and he would be safer here than back home. Reports of how savagely the Ironmen had raided Oldtown still gave Margaery nightmares. Her brothers had not been able to put a stop to the raidings. So she convinced Tom that he needed to stay. Times were dangerous, they both knew. If anybody were to find out, it would mean his head. And hers, if the High Septon and Cersei got their way. But she also needed him more than ever right now. After Loras had returned, Tom had been the one who had comforted her. She would need to send him away once Tommen was grown, that was true. But she was certain she would miss him.

Outside, Ser Lambert joined her. He fell in beside Margaery with Jake and Puke trailing behind, “Thank you for meeting with me your grace.” He said to her.

“Thank you, Ser!” She said to him with a smile, “In these troubled times we have sore need of friends. We have not much time however. What did you want to tell me?”

“Ser Daven is amassing an army at Casterly Rock.” Ser Lambert said as they exited into the courtyard. “My brother from Lannisport has been called to join them. Qyburn will never tell you this, but in today’s council, Ser Lancel means to start a fight, so that Ser Daven will have an excuse to march east. The fight, seemingly started by you will also put the high septon’s sympathies on the Lannister’s side. Ser Lancel will also try to get the warrior’s sons involved. He is counting on the Tyrells to be angry at the Lannisters in the light of Ser Loras’ wounds. He means to ask for a seat on the council again.”

Aye, that will start a fight. Her father may even have him thrown out of the Red Keep. The gold cloaks watched them pass without any suspicion as they passed over the bridge, but Margaery was worried that her expressions would betray her. The high septon had approached her father suggesting Lancel take his father’s place as Tommen’s reagent after the trial. Her father had been livid, and had told the High Sparrow that faith had no business in the running of the state. “The king is a boy,” The high sparrow had said to the small council, “And the actions of his councilors are making my knights anxious. I am keeping them calm, but if they do not see justice from you, they may seek it elsewhere.” Lord Tarly held this as a veiled threat to join the pretender Aegon, and had wanted to arrest the High Sparrow and all his knights. But now that that threat was over, Ser Lancel may get the High Septon to support the western army. “How do you know what Ser Lancel means to do?” She asked Ser Lambert as they ascended the steps of the small hall. “I had a friend in the gold cloaks.” The knight replied, “After the, ah, the fight, he went into hiding. Ser Lancel has been meeting with them. Yesterday, he told them to stand ready in case they were needed.”

Margaery looked at him, “Thank you for telling me this, Ser. I will not forget this.” They stopped in front of the door, “And tell your friend to be brave. I will get my father to stop this hunt against the Lannister soldiers.”

Inside, she found her father with Lord Randyll. Lord Tarly was in his armor, pacing in front of the hearth. Her father was reclined on the chair, eyes closed and facing up. Tommen was not going to attent today’s council session, “Where is Ser Harys and Qyburn?” Margaery asked them, “Are they not going to join us.”

Her father seemingly took no notice. “We sent them back.”  Lord Tarly told her. “The council was cancelled.”

They will meet Ser Lancel on the way out, that won’t be good, “Why?”

“There has been news.” Her father said, his voice grave. “Tell her Tarly, I can’t.”

Margaery turned towards Lord Randyll, “There was a bird from Oldtown.” The man told her with sadness and anger in his eyes, “Lord Garlan had gone to relieve them when the ironmen made Ser Gunthor’s forces go mad. But this Euron Crow’s eye had apparently split his forces. The other half had been in Blackcrown. But when Garlan left for Oldtown, they sailed to Bandallon and travelled overland to the Brightwater Keep. Five thousand ironmen. There were no survivors. The ironmen torched the castle.”

Margaery stared at him in horror. “Leonette?” Instead of answering, Lord Tarly just shook his head.

She looked at her father. Every victory of ours turns into ashes. Poor Leonette. Poor Garlan. He had only just claimed the castle as his seat and moved his lady wife there. What more must House Tyrell endure? “Father hear me.” She said. “We must make our peace with the Lannisters. Let Ser Lancel join the small council.”

Her father looked at her as if she had gone mad. “What? Why?”

“We need them as allies my lord. We cannot fight everyone ourselves. The ironmen are having a free rein in the reach because you are tied down here. Storm’s End still stands against us, and the dornishmen could still support them if they thought they could beat us. The high septon might join them, declaring this Aegon to be the rightful king and turning the pious all over the seven kingdoms against us. We have enemies everywhere. Let us not create one more. Ser Daven, the Warden of the West is raising an army in Lannisport, we do not want the High Septon to join him with Ser Lancel.”

Her father sat up straight, “How do you know this?”

“Ser Lambert told me.”

“Turnberry? I told you not to trust him. What if it is only to intimidate us? Not that we will be.”

“He told me Ser Lancel has been meeting with the Lannister gold cloaks that have gone into hiding. It makes sense. Having Tommen as hostage will not stop them from attacking. They know you want your daughter to be queen, so you will not harm the king.”

“Your daughter speaks truly my lord.” Lord Tarly said, “The lannisters may get help from the riverlanders as well. Before he left for wherever, Ser Jaime asked Lord Frey for his hostages from the Red Wedding. Sons and cousins of the river lords and northmen. Edwyn Fery is demanding ransom for them, and we do not have the coin. Casterly Rock does.”

“And so long as we are tied down here, the ironmen…” Margaery started, but her father snapped, “Fine. Invite the bloody Lannister.” His words were as angry as he was, “He will not be regent, I will be. Let him be the hand of the king.”

The next day however, Margaery felt that her father regretted his outburst. He had a pained expression on his face as he watched Ser Lancel climb the steps of the iron throne in front of the entire court. While the regent had more power than the hand, only the king and the hand could sit the iron throne. The court had been called in a hurry, after an intense session of the council that had lasted most of the night, but the attendance was still good. Her father had just proclaimed Ser Lancel’s new position, “And may he lead us with the courage his father did.” Queen Cersei sat to Margaery’s left, beside her father on a bench in front of the throne, and Margaery could feel her quiet satisfaction. The king sat between the two queens, and they faced the commoners and nobles and merchants of the seven kingdoms, who had come with hopes of answers for their fears and questions.

Ser Lancel set out to answer them. “Red Ronnet has swept the golden company and their false dragon from the stormlands.” He told the crowd. A ragged cheer went up. There were some swords of the faith in the crowd, and Margaery could not help but notice that some of them did not look happy. “Lord Mace Tyrell will leave tomorrow to root the sellswords out of Storm’s End itself.” Margaery had not wanted her father to leave, but he had assured her that now that Loras was here, even disabled, the Lannisters will not dare to harm her. And he would be gone only a short time. Ronnet Connington had asked permission to haggle with the sellswords for the castle, unless the crown wanted him to starve the castle out. The council had decided against it. The quicker the matter is resolved the better, they had agreed. Ser Lancel had volunteered to go in capacity of the hand, but her father had insisted that he himself go. The stormlanders were closer to the Tyrells than the Lannisters, had even gone to war side by side with them when Renly had crowned himself. Her father meant to renew the ties.

Ser Lancel continued, “Lord Randyl Tarly will lead twenty thousand reachmen that are here in King’s Landing towards to the Reach, to bring justice to the ironmen. Lady Leonette and the people of Oldtown will have their revenge.” This time the cheer was louder, with the Tyrell gold cloaks the loudest. “Lady Nymeria has promised some of Dorne’s own troops to help relieve Oldtown and The Arbor, and to crew for Lord Redwyn’s ships, until such time that Lord Tarly arrives.” The dornishwomen smiled to the crowd. If she had been unhappy to volunteer her uncle’s army, she had given no such indication in last night’s council, just her usual smugness at the Lannisters and the Tyrells needing her help. “Mine own cousin, Ser Daven will build warships at Lannisport,” Ser Lancel told the courtiers, “to lead the attack against the Iron Islands to free the Reach and the North alike from the atrocities of the Ironmen.”

Ser Edwyn Frey was called forth. The Frey wore silver and black armor, and a darker smile as he kneeled in front of the Iron Throne. Lancel bade him to rise, “Ser Edwyn. The crown thanks you for handing over your prisoners.” Only half of them. Frey had point blank refused to hand over the northemen. “My great-grandfather has promised Lord Bolton that he will take good care of them.” He had told them. He also wanted Harrion Karstark, who was in a cell at Maidenpool, in exchange for Patrek Mallister, heir to Seaguard. Nymeria had pointed out that Mallister had been promised to his father if he opened his gates and surrendered to the crown, which he had done. By rights, Ser Patrek should have already been home. But Lord Tarly had made the council accept Ser Edwyn’s proposal. Mallisters were old enemies of the Ironmen, her father had explained to Margaery, and having their friendship could prove useful. Aside from this point of contention, the arrangement of the transfer of the other hostages had been smooth. “The crown will see to it that they get proper ransom and will be restored to their proper titles.” Ser Lancel told the crowd. “We are happy to welcome the Riverlands back into the king’s peace.”

“Next is the matter of great grievance.” Lancel continued when Ser Edwyn left. “Lord Robert Arryn, son of our own beloved Lord Jon Arryn has been murdered by Lord Petyr Bealish.” He paused to let the murmur die down. “The new lord of the Eyrie, Lord Harold Hardying has written to us on the manner of the crime, and many lords such as Lord Yohn Royce, whose honor is known to us all, attest to it. Lord Petyr has been our leal servant for many years, and this is a shock to us all. The small council felt that Lord Petyr deserved a trial, but his own actions have been proof against him. He has closed the Gates of The Moon against Lord Harry, forcing him to take up arms to claim his own seat.” Even this had not been good enough for the high septon, but the rest of the council had almost been single minded on this. Lord Petyr could have been a friend of the Tyrells, her father had acknowledged to her, but the mess he had created trying to seize power in the Vale was too much. Betrothing his daughter to the heir and killing the lord? And then getting caught while doing it? That was just stupid and careless. “In light of this,” Ser Lancel said, “the crown names Lord Petyr Bealish traitor and strips him of all his titles and lands and hope brave Lord Harrold can bring him to justice.” He left out that all his properties and treasures not in Vale would be seized by the crown. His properties and possessions in King’s Landing will also help the crown in a more immediate problem. The crown was massively in debt. Ser Lancel had agreed to forgive some of the debt owed to Casterly Rock for his position as Hand, and would grant new loans as well, at a lower interest. He relished to tell this to the anxious merchants, “With this loan,” And littlefinger’s seized properties, “our treasurer Ser Harys Swyft will go to Braavos to intercede with the Iron Bank on your behalf. The trade will resume as before.”

The court that emptied that night was a happy one. Lancel Lannister had a lean and thin build, a starved look. Not good for inspiring confidence. But his voice was clear and full of determination. And he was a sword of the faith, a fact not gone unnoticed from the commoners. _They are calling this a victory of the gods_. Lord Randyll had reported, _God will now set everything to right, they are telling each other in the streets._ At least it was not Casterly Rock getting all the credit, Margaery thought, or the Tyrells any discredit.


	17. Sansa II

Her new cell was bleak and drab. The ceiling was wet from the snowmelt on the roof. The blanket they gave her smelled of mold, and her food was hard beef and gruel and water. The turnkey Mord promised to rape her once the lords condemned her to die. And Alayne felt that this was too little. She felt she deserved a lot more. For bringing death wherever she went. Surely a cell was the least of what she should get for killing her loved ones.

She had not killed anyone with her own hands except Ser Byron and Ser Morgarth, that was true. She still dreamed of those two. In her dreams, her crossbows missed, and the duo laughed at her efforts at freedom as they took her to the Queen. In reality, she had distracted them with a thrown rock. The gods had heard her prayers, and her crossbow had found it’s mark. Ser Byron was the first. Ser Morgarth’s horse had suddenly thrown him off and run away, and Sansa’s second crossbow had taken it’s second life. But not her second. Robert and Petyr were already dead because of her, no matter how much she tried to deny it. And now even Harry was on the brink of death. The new lord of Eyrie had not opened his eyes in five days.

Harry had not woken up ever since they had left Ser Shadrich. She remembered how he had started whimpering after he had been lifted from his horse by Ser Patrek. “Where is Wyl?” The knight had demanded of Alayne, only to see her dissolve in tears. After difficulty, they had coaxed out the word “Dead…” from her. But that was all Alayne had told them. They had taken the body inside, and Alayne had finally asked about Robert. Though she could already see the answer in the anxious looks of the people in the castle.

Over the next few days, they had questioned her many times. Or at least they had tried. Lady Anya and her sons had demanded about what had happened. Were it the clansmen that had attacked them? Why had one of her father’s guards poisoned their lord? How was she alive?

What could she tell them? Why will they believe her?

When Lord Nestor returned two days later, he brought Petyr’s body with him, along with Ser Morgarth’s and Ser Byron’s and of those who had been in Alayne’s hunting party. Up till now, the people in The Gates of the Moon had believed the clansmen to be the culprits. But the crossbow bolts in Ser Morgarth’s and Ser Byron’s chest could be clearly seen to have been fired from the crossbow Alayne had brought back. When Lord Yohn arrived answering Lady Waynwood’s raven, they again summoned Alayne from her rooms. By now, they suspected Petyr as the instigator rather than a victim, and that Alayne had gotten cold feet from whatever had been their scheme on hearing about her father’s demise. Standing in front of them, Alayne had thought, now is your chance. Become Sansa Stark of Winterfell again and throw your life in their hands. But she could not bring herself to tell them the truth. Why will they believe her? And if they did, what if they still blamed her for Robert’s death, as she herself did? What if they sent her to the queen? Lord Yohn had been Lord Eddard’s friend, but he had not helped Robb, had even sworn fealty to Joffrey, her father’s killer, and then to Tommen. Better to keep her silence and hope they kill her themselves, rather being surrendered to Cersei. Her silence had earned her a backhanded slap. After that, Lord Yohn had not sent her back to her room with Myranda, but had instead shoved her inside a cell.

When I die, it will all end. Sansa told herself as she watched the moonlight seep through the bars on the window. I will be reunited with my family. I will kill no more people. Maybe Harry will even live, if I am no longer present to poison his surroundings.

Mord came for her the next morning.

She woke up with a jerk from the sound of the hinges. “Come.” The turnkey growled at her, his golden tooth flashing in the sunlight, “You’re wanted before the Lord’s declarant.”

Lords Declarant? Had Lady Waynwood invited others with Yohn Royce? “Please! I am in no fit state…”

“You don’t need to look pretty to die, girl!” Mord said, “Lord Harry has commanded your presence immediately.”

Harry was awake? Oh thank gods. Though what it spelled for Alayne she could only guess. Will he remember that she had saved his life? Or will he remember that she had endangered his life in the first place. And caused Robert’s death.

In the Lord’s Chamber, all the original lords declarant were present, but she also saw unfamiliar faces whom she only recognized by the heraldry. Gyles stood with a man who probably was his father Lord Grafton. Starfish on a gold strip indicated Lord Ruthermont. Lord Borell wore a skeletal spider on his breast. Lord Waxly from Wickenden was present. Myranda was also there with her father, looking at her with an expression on her face that was close to wonderment. But Alayne’s eyes were drawn to the figure seating in the winter seat of the Arryns.

Sansa kneeled before Lord Harrold Hardyng.

“Get up my lady.” Harry said to her. Sansa got to her feet and looked to her betrothed. Or who was once her betrothed. Harry looked almost as pale as he did when she had brought him to the Gates of the Moon. His eyes were exhausted even after a sleep of almost six days, and he could not sit up straight. Yet when he spoke, anger was evident in his voice, “What happened to her cheek?”

He does not hate me. Relief flooded through her body. He is worried about the bruise on my cheek. Lord Yohn came forward, eyes downcast. “It was me my lord. In my anger…”

“You hit a girl?” Harry asked.

“Do not scold him, my lord.” Sansa blurted out, “Please. His lord had just been murdered. You should be proud to have such loyal lords.”

“Such loyal lords!” Harry snorted. “I would rather have some clever lords, I think.” His council was looking everywhere but at him, “I remember the talks. We should ride with the Young Wolf. We should rescue Riverrun and Ser Blackfish. Sansa Stark has done a great service to the realm by removing Joffry. I also remember that all of you had designated Lord Baelish as a villain.” He pointed out some lords in the crowd, “Yet he seems to be the only one to be acting instead of just mouthing off over a flagon of ale. It seems you all owe Lady Stark some apologies my lords.”

One by one, the lords came to her. “I remember Lady Catlyn from when she came here.” Lady Anya said to her, “You are as stromg as your mother. I am very sorry for the treatment we gave you and Lord Baelish.” Lord Belmore came next, followed by Ser Lyn, and after them, others. Last came Bronze Yohn Royce, “My anger does not excuse my actions my lady. Striking even a bastard girl is unseemly for a lord.” He would have said more, but Sansa stopped him. “This is not the first bruise I have gotten my lord. Against the pain of losing Robert and Petyr, I hardly felt it.” She continued, “When you first came to meet Petyr in the Eyrie, you asked me if you had seen me before. Would that I had confessed to you then and there.” She addressed the entire room then. “It is my turn to apologize my lords and ladies. I apologize for what happened here because of me. I never wanted any harm to come to Robert.” Tears again formed in her eyes. “Neither did Petyr. He was only trying to protect me. I beg of you my lords,” She sank to her knees “Do not hand me over to the queen. I will understand if you do not want me here. Just let me go, and I will never bother you again.” And where she will go, she did not know.

By the time she had finished, Harry had climbed down from his chair and came to her. He took her by the shoulders and helped her up. Even that effort exhausted him. “Please my lady. Do not beg. You saved my life. I will never hand you over to the queen’s noose. Nor are you going anywhere, unless of course it is your wish.” He let go of her and sank to his knees in front of her. “You saved my life. I hope you will let me repay you. I owe you my life, and I will give you back yours. As much of it as I can.” His voice got stronger with the words, “If you say yes, I will give you your home, Winterfell, or die trying. This I vow by my sword. And later, if you consent, I will be honored to make good on our betrothal and marry you.”

Sansa was speechless. She had not even dared to hope for this outcome. There was a murmur in the hall. Bees buzzing. He wants me to lead him into war. Could she say yes? “I am already married my lord. The northmen will never have a Lannister as the lady of Winterfell.”

“Then I will make a widow of you. The last thing the Imp will see will be the edge of my sword. If that is what you wish.” His looked at her, “We have heard tales of your wedding, my lady. You were sobbing. Screaming and pleading.”

Who told them that? “I did not even shed a tear. Joffrey taught me that right at the beginning,” she touched her bruise again, “This is not the first bruise I have gotten.”

The hall had given a hiss of anger almost in unison. Harry stood up and drew his sword, “Say yes my lady, and I will give you as many Lannisters as you wish.”

 “Do not make such promises to me my lord.” She said to him. “Men who have been promising me things have been dying far too long. My father promised me that King’s Landing will be an adventure, but it turned to be a nightmare. Petyr said I will be safe here in the Vale, then he died himself. My brother and my mother tried to free me, but met and with an end themselves.” It was hard to hold back the sobs, but somehow she kept talking. “You offer what I have dreamt of almost every night since my father died, but if I thought you will also die, how could I say yes? I want nothing more than to say yes. So I will give a last chance, the last chance to back out. Remove the folly of war from your head while you still can.” She bit her lip to keep from sobbing.

“How could I back out?” Harry whispered, “When you didn’t. You knew you would encounter Ser Byron on your way to the castle. Yet you still made haste. To save me, and Lord Robert.” He knelt before her again and placed his sword in front of her, “I promise you my lady. Say yes, and I will give you all that your heart desires.”

They left the Gates of the Moon three days later.

The lords had their discussions behind closed doors while Alayne Stone transformed into Sansa Stark. Myranda gifted her some of her better dresses, and promised to gift her more. “Had I known who you really were, I would have told you less of my dirty little deeds.” Were her first words to Sansa. Sansa was glad to have her friend back. Myranda had grown wroth about her silence in the past few days, but Sansa forgave her of that. She was even gladder when Myranda asked to be one of her lady companions on her journey north.

A thousand knights had gathered beneath the mountain when Harry and Sansa descended. Harry was in better health now, and promised her that if he did not feel healthy as a horse when they reached the Twins, he will give the command to one of his lords. Lords Nestor Royce and Benedar Belmore accompanied them. Lady Waynwood would have come as well, but she was too old. Harry instead gave her the stewardship of the Vale in his absence. Bronze Yohn Royce and Symond Templeton and others stayed behind to raise more swords. “By the time we leave the Vale,” Harry told her, “We will have near ten thousand men. Lord Belmore insists that these will be enough for the twins.” Surprise was essential for taking the Twins, so they were leaving with only these many swords. “Yohn Royce will then bring about fifteen thousand swords. That will make my army bigger than what King Robb had. You will have no cause to complain my lady, though the Lannisters might.”

Instead of making for the Bloody Gate, as many armies leaving the Vale had done in the olden centuries, they headed for Heart’s Home. There, they were met with Lord Lyonal Corbray, Ser Lyn’s elder brother. Lord Lyonel had gathered two thousand swords. Five hundred of them horse. A ragtag fleet had also been assembled, and in a day the army was sailing up the Snakeriver to Strongsong. Sansa spent most of the voyage in bed, though the river was not so bad as the sea. Harry’s and Myranda’s teasing also eased some of the voyage.

At Strongsong, they were met with Lord Herrek Hersy. Lord Hersy was a short bald man with a permanent scowl on his face. But the expression changed for a while to surprise as Lord Belmore told him of the true purpose of the army. “He actually started coughing when we told them that we were harbouring Sansa Stark.” Harry told her later, laughing.

“King’s Landing has it’s own problems.” Harry had told her, “Queen Cersei and Queen Margaery are to undergo a trial. An army is invading the Stormlanders and the Ironmen are ravaging the Reach.” So they had told the world that Petyr had betrothed his daughter to the heir apparent of the Vale, and then murdered Robert. Harry had written to the Red Keep that he will swear his alliance to Tommen if the crown condemned Petyr and allowed Harry to whisk him out of the Eyrie. This was only a pretext to raise the army however. Bronze Yohn assured her that the world will later know of the truth. “If need be, I will tell them myself of how brave and good Lord Petyr was.”

Lord Hersy had raised about five thousand men. His own and Lord Belmore’s. And by the time they exited the Vale, they numbered a little more than eight thousand. “From now on, the scouts will ride very close to the main army.” Ser Wallace told her as they entered the riverlands. “We will continue riding even in the nights if the moonlight permits.” He told her. “The scouts will make sure that anybody who sees us will not spread the news.”

 “They will kill them?” Sansa asked, horrified, “Innocent people?”

“No my lady.” Wallace laughed, “No, not kill them, unless they force us to. Otherwise, we will merely keep them prisoners. Lord Harry wants the smallfolk on our side. He will not harm them unduly. This is just a precaution to keep our approach secret to Lord Walder, and everyone else.”

The column spread for miles, yet the speed was fast. Sansa rode in the middle. Many a times Harry was with her, with his new friends Ser Wallace, Ser Lyn and his new squires Gyles and Terrance. Between them, the days were not so long. Other times, if Harry went to talk to his lords, it might be only Sansa and Ser Lother and some others of Petyr’s guards. Harry had freed them from the dungeons where Bronze Yohn had confined them, and had offered them the chance of entering Sansa’s service. She had her own guard. The thought made her feel… strange. She liked Harry’s company more, but her guard’s company was also comfortable. Familiar faces in the large army.

It started raining the day after they crossed into the riverlands. Sansa endured it with clenched teeth. In the days after that, the snows fallen in the night stopped melting. It was only a thin coating, but they still hid the wasteland that the Riverlands had become after so many battles. Sansa still wished she were dry though. Every night she had to change into dry clothes from the baggage train, only to change into the wet ones for the march. Lest the dry ones become wet too.

They stopped once they were two days from the Twins. Sansa made her way to Harry’s tent anxiously. Her tummy was all a flutter. The sun was hanging low on the horizon, a bright spot behind the clouds. The rains had stopped for a while, and the men were preparing to camp for the night. Harry’s tent was already erected. Two guards stood without, with their backs as straight as the spears they held in their hands. The tent flew no banners, and was as common as could be. Had Sansa passed by without knowing beforehand, she would never have thought that it was a lord’s tent. It was to keep their identity secret, she knew. “We are not showing any banners as of yet.” Ser Lyn had told her. “Otherwise the sight of the banners snapping in the wind over the army is to die for.”

Ser Patrek had said they had someone for her to meet. When she entered the tent, she saw that Harry was standing with Lord Nestor and his son Ser Albar. With them stood a man dressed in the clothes of a begging brother. “Come in Sansa. Come in.” Harry said while dragging her in. He seemed very excited. “Look who our scouts ran into.” He indicated to the begging brother. “Do you recognize him?”

Sansa looked at him closely. He was an old man. With a craggy, windburnt face. She was sure she had never seen him before.

The man came forward and knelt before her. “You only saw me when you were a little girl. But Cat has told me so much about you.” He took her hand and kissed her on the wrist. “She would have been very proud of how brave you are.”

Lord Nestor came forward, grinning. “The man in front of you is your great uncle Ser Brynden Blackfish, my lady. He has agreed to lead our attack on the Twins.”


	18. Victarion II

Victarion loved to sail. The feel of the deck beneath his feet. The spray of the salt water on his face. Sometime if the winds were favorable, the feeling of the speed as the ship churned through water was the best feeling in the world. Comparable to a women’s touch. However, compared to flying, sailing was nothing. _May the drowned god forgive me!_

He had fallen in love with flying the first time he flew. Some men might have been afraid of the height, but Victarion Greyjoy was not just some man. Even in his first flight, he had tried to see how far up the dragon will go. And the sights. Ahhh… The clouds were beneath him, running from the wind. He could see the Iron Fleet below, specks in the wide oceans. Up, he went, up and up, until the sun was in front of him. For a moment he was tempted to challenge the yellow orb in the sky. To see if he could fly up there. But it were only the wind in his head. It had been quite difficult to get back to the ship and dismount the dragon. Nor could he fly as much as he wished. Soon. Victarion promised himself. Let this farce play out flawlessly, and I will fly as much as I want to.

New Ghis was a typical port city. Situated on the southern point of the smallest of the three islands of Ghaen, it had barricaded itself against the approaching Iron Fleet. There was no sign of the Volantene Fleet. The Volantene had gone to Quarth, possibly to make an alliance now that Yunkai was gone. “We will deal with them if we have to” Ser Jorah had said to him, when Victarion had proposed to pursue them, “We are not to strike the first blow.” Him and Selmy both had milk running through their veins. Bent on peace, the lot of them. Peace was not the way of the world. This mummer’s farce of an attack was mainly for their benefit.

“The sea is treacherous there between the islands.”  He told his captains. Not that they needed any lessons. Manfryd Merlyn, The Vole and Ralf the Limper were seasoned raiders, and experienced with the spires hidden under the sea. “Bring the unsullied to the shore on the signal from Ser Jorah”. His people didn’t like taking help from a knight, a Mormont on top of that, but they were preparing to attack the port city, with a very small army, so they had to stick to the plan.

The city was impossible to attack from its port. It was a hexagonal city, with only two sides open to the sea. On its west rose a cliff, impossible to climb from the water. It was there that Ser Jorah had seen Viserion gone down. The southern and south eastern sides were natural ports, and the Ghiscari had demolished all the structures and had arranged their longships in such a way that they looked like a kraken’s arms, six ships long. There were twelve such arms, surely filled with bowmen and soldiers, and to get to the port, the Iron Fleet would have to traverse through them, taking a beating from either side. Forcing them through only one opening was not an option, since the distance between two arms was no more than two ships long.

Instead, The unsullied and the windblown would attack from the north, through the farmlands. The coast was badly defended. However making port here was not easy. The current was treacherous, and filled with reefs and spires. Moreover, the Ghiscari had filled the wharves and caves of the island of Ghaen towards the north with small ships and soldiers that would take any army making way for New Ghis from the north in the rear. Finding them and killing them was impossible, for who knows how many holes the rats have. Instead, Ser Jorah had landed on the other side of the Black Island with the Stalwart Shields. When Grief, Kite and Lord Quellon would set the unsullied aground, Ser Jorah calculated that rats will flush out, and prove arrow fodder for his men. Any stragglers would be seen to by them as well.

“The gods have granted us calm winds today.” It had been Morroqo’s sacrifice of the Ghiscari soldiers, the priest had said, but his captains did not need to know that, “Make for the city once you port. Let Mormont take care of those behind you.” He clapped each man on the back and sent them on their way.

His own ship he directed around the city to the south. “The lockstep legions fight better on land.” The guide Merraq from Meereen had told him. “That is probably why they haven’t challenged your fleet on the sea.” It didn’t matter. They will land, but the Iron Fleet wouldn’t have to face the Ghiscari kraken’s arm. Victarion will see to that.

When he was near the Iron Fleet, he summoned the rest of the captains to his cabins. “There are some changes in the plan.” He told them. Now that there were no outsiders on the Iron Victory, it was time to set the real plan in motion. “You will see me leaving for the western cliffs, don’t be alarmed.” He could see their confusion. “Red Ralf,” He addressed the bearded man that had come back to them from the storms, “I am giving you the command. Make only a show of attacking, keep the defenders tied down at the walls. Let the unsullied attack from the north. Do not advance into the arms before I join you.” He looked around, almost wanting to tell them the whole truth. But he wanted to surprise them. “You do not understand, I can see that. Just trust in your captain.”

“Always.” Red Ralf thumped his chest. The others shouted in assent. “Good man.” Victarion said to him, bidding them farewell.

The Iron Fleet waited on anchor for the afternoon. When the sun was in at it’s top most, Morroqo came up to him. “It is time.” The red priest said. Victarion nodded. He directed Humble to drop the sails.

The iron fleet numbered sixty, as of now. But Iron Victory alone made it’s way over to the cliff. If his crew heard the horn, they said nothing. The cliff was twice again the height of the City walls. What made it impossible to climb from the water was the cavern beneath. The seawater had eaten the ground beneath the cliff, and created a pirate’s dream so near the city. “Drop the boats.” He said Wulfe One ear. “We are going inside.”

Carefully they made their way into the yawning mouth of the cavern. The Iron Victory waited off anchor behind them, manned by only Burton Humble and Morroqo. Once inside, it was Wulfe One ear that glimpsed the first man. An arrow flew, and suddenly there were men all around them, sprouting from behind the rocks. The ghiscari were about fifty, less than his men. But they had the high ground. “Shields.” Victarion shouted, and all of the boats suddenly had a roof of shields. Victarion could feel the thuds as arrows embedded themselves onto their shields. On the boat beside him, He saw Tom Tidewood fall into the water, an arrow in his chest. But suddenly the arrows stopped. There was a sound of wings, and a woosh of fire. “Now.” Shouted Victarion. His Ironmen poured out of the boats even as dragonfire swirled above them. The ghiscari were running, but running straight into the Ironmen’s swords. Viserion was blocking the mouth of the cavern, and firing at any man moving. Any man but the Ironmen.

Soon, the Ghiscari were all dead. “Are you truly gonna ride that?” The Stammerer asked Victarion in wonder. Victarion laughed at him. “Euron thought _he_ would be giving you Westeros. He was wrong.” Amidst cheers from his men, he jumped onto the dragon’s back. He wished his brother was here, to witness him taking his dream away.

Victarion had been flying ever since they left Meereen. It had been too dangerous in the city itself. That was one of the main reasons why Victarion had agreed to go to New Ghis. He did not care a fig whether Quarth won or Meereen survived. But the sea was away from the eyes of the queen’s more fervent supporters. Due to Jorah Mormont’s presence, they had had to be discreet even out on the sea, however. So Victarion had picked a fight with Mormont on purpose, and then sent him to the front of the fleet, keeping the Iron Victory in the back. In the time before dawn, Victarion and Morroqo, with a few trusted men and the hornblowers would steal off into a small boat. Once they were at a safe distance from the fleet, the hornblowers would blow the dragon horn. The blowers were handpicked by Victarion. They knew that they would die from blowing the horn, but promise of glory for their families and ships for their brethren had made them volunteer their life for their captain. The horn had been blown for the first time in the battle with the Yunkai’i. Morroqo had told him the horn was used only to summon and bind the dragons to the master of the horn. “But with me at your side, you can make them do your bidding as well.” He had made Victarion stare into the fire and think about what he wanted the dragons to do. He had done so, and outside, the dragons had commenced to fire the trebuchets.

That had been only for practice. The real flight that mattered was now. Victarion took the ropes from Quellon Humble. “Climb the ropes.” He told his men. “and make haste. If you fall, I will personally see you delivered to the drowned god.” He took the dragon out of the cavern, and pushed off.

It was a great feeling, flying. The wind whipped at his face and flew through his hair and beard as the clouds came ever closer. But this was no time to enjoy the ride. In the air, Victarion looked once to the city. He could see that the unsullied had reached the city walls. Ser Jorah will not be far behind. After taking care of the soldiers behind the unsullied, the knight was going to lead his Stalwart Shields over to where the dragon had fallen. There was no time to lose.

Victarion directed his dragon to the ground. The ropes were long, and reached the sea even from atop the cliff. Victarion hopped off the dragon and sent it back to it’s hiding place. There were coconut trees around him, with thick and strong trunks. Selecting four, he tied the ropes around them.

In no time, his men had scaled the cliff. “Come, we have to make haste.” He said to them once they were all at the top, “There are ghiscari soldiers here as well. Be on the lookout.”

Victarion had already scouted the cliff. And knew the passage he would take to go to the dragon’s lair. He had chosen this spot as the hiding spot for Viserion because it was so difficult to reach. He had made the white dragon circle the island city from a safe distance. When the slavers had started firing arrows at the flying beast, it had feigned falling onto the cliff. Ser Jorah had seen it all, and had run to Victarion for help in rescuing the dragon. Victarion had acted reluctant, but inside he was laughing. Mormont was walking straight into his trap. Finally, Victarion had allowed himself to be persuaded to attack the city while Ser Jorah led his unsullied over to the cliff. “Daenerys named Viserion after her brother. We must save him.” He had even agreed to finally draw the enmity of New Ghis, for he knew they could not take the city itself. He believed that they would have to run after they secure the dragon. The knight was going to be surprised.

They sighted the enemy before it sighted them, and Victarion made his men halt. The ghiscari had apparently been trying to kill the dragon themselves. The dragon would not let anyone come closer, however, and so the soldiers had simply formed a ring around it. Now Viserion had returned from his sudden flight, they were looking at him cautiously. They were probably afraid that the dragon might set the entire woods on fire if they tried approaching it. From the ridge they were on, Victarion could see blackened areas in the middle of the forest that Viserion and Rhaegal had fired. The other dragon was close by. “He is not bound to anyone as of yet,” Morroqo had said, “and will follow your commands.” Victarion would have liked to ride him as well, but the priest had said that it was impossible. “Dragons may take many riders, one after the other, but no man may ride more than one dragon. Even the Targaeryns did not try.”

From here they could hear the battle going on below. It was a clamor of shouts and ringing of steel. Victarion’s hands itched on hearing it, but he could not join his comrades. Not just yet. They had to wait for Mormont to show. It wouldn’t be long. Morroqo had looked into his fires and only separated the Iron Victory from the fleet at such a time that the Iron Captain will reach the dragon just before Mormont.

Nor did they have to wait much longer. Shouts from across the lair told them of Mormon’t arrival. Victarion nodded to his men, and came out of his hiding spots. Across the field, arrows were flying and the clash of swords could be heard. The ring had broken, and the legion had formed to the north. They had anticipated the arrival of a rescue for the dragon, and an entire legion was waiting for Mormont near the dragon. They didn’t know about Victarion however. “They must believe we have come from the city.” Victarion told his men, “Strike east. When we are between them and the city, we will attack.”

By the time they attacked, battle was going on in full swing. The freedmen were surprised to see the ironmen, as were the ghiscari. The legion had formed a wedge on the slope of the mountain, and Victarion attacked them from the flank. “The wedge is strong my lord.” Wulfe shouted at him, “But Ser Jorah is trying to get to the dragon. You should go.” Victarion nodded. “To me.” He shouted to the men around him. Once he had about thirty men, he pushed forward. The legionnaires were mainly focused on the freedmen, and Victarion was at its flank, so he broke through the ring.

The dragon was in a blackened clearing, alone. But not for long. The ghiscari soldiers were turning, seeing that the ironmen had reached their prize. Victarion met with them with a snarl. The dragon was roaring, firing the woods, but not flying. Victarion’s men were being pushed back under the onslaught. But suddenly the Stalwart Shields broke in from the wedge.

Instead of going to them, however, Victarion turned on his heels. He could hear Jorah Mormont calling the dragon’s name. Now for the final act. Throwing his axe at an oncoming legionnaire, Victarion threw himself at the dragon.

For a moment, the soldiers stopped as if to marvel at the Iron Captain’s folly. They had never seen a man on the back of a dragon. He could see the shock of Ser Jorah’s face. Then Victarion loosed the fires.

The Knight came to him that evening. The city had just fallen, thanks to Victarion. After Victarion had burned the kraken’s arms and created a passage for the Iron Fleet, he had taken the dragon along the outer walls. The guards had run, and the city had fallen in a matter of minutes. Right now, he was surrounded by his men. “It was magnificent” Pyke was telling him. “The wood burst from your flames my lord.” To hear him tell it, it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. “Wait till Euron sees it…”

Suddenly he was shoved aside and Victarion was face to face with Jorah Mormont. “What did you do?” The knight roared, full in his face. His sword naked and bloody in his hand.

Victarion stood his ground. “I saved the dragon, Ser. You could not even break through the enemy lines.”

“We were right there.” Spittle was flying from the knight’s mouth.

“Take care of your tone, knight.” Victarion said, “I do not care for your shouting at me in front of my men. By the time I saw you, I was already mounted. They were pointing crossbows at him, I did what I thought was best.”

Mormont tried to take a deep breath, and failed. He was shaking so much from anger. “Where is the dragon now?”

“He is feeding on horses in some stable.”

“Take me to him. I shall take him to my ship once he is done.”

Victarion stepped closer to Mormont, his red arm hissing. “Listen to me, Knight. First, you do not give me commands. Second, the dragon will stay with me.”

Mormont stiffened, “The dragon belongs to the queen.”

“The dragon has accepted me as his rider. Daenerys has her own.”

The knight’s mouth curdled. The hatred and contempt in his eyes almost had Victarion reaching for his axe. But the entire point of the days farce had been to get Mormont and then Selmy and his Meereenese council to accept Victarion as a dragon rider, and so Victarion was determined not to strike first.

The knight would not back down, however. Taking a step back, he raised his sword full in the Iron Captains face. “I repeat, the dragon belongs to the queen. Only she may bestow it upon someone.”

All around them, swords were drawn. Ironmen and the unsullied. Victarion raised his hand, telling his men to stand down. “Lower that sword, Ser Jorah. You do not want to fight the only man who can find your queen.”

“Find Daenerys? How?” The knight asked, even as comprehension dawned on his face. He gritted his teeth, and with another contemptuous look at the Iron Captain, lowered his sword.


	19. Sansa III

Harry had not even gotten a single cut in the war. “We took the east tower quickly,” He was telling Sansa enthusiastically, “But they managed to put the portcullis down across the bridge.” They were sitting in Lord Walder’s chambers, which Harry had given to Sansa, “It will drive the old man crazy.” He had said to her, “To know that a Stark is living in his solar.”

“Lord Hersy took some boats from the jetty, and rowed our men across the fork.” He was saying now, “The Blackfish too, from the southern side. While I battered the portcullis and drew the attention of the guards toward me.”

Sansa suddenly noticed something. “That is not your sword.” She said, indicating the rather plain sword on Harry’s swordbelt. The sword he had brought from the Eyrie had a falcon’s head on the pommel. This one had nothing.

“Oh, yeah.” Harry said, looking at the sword. “I always fight like this. If someone is putting his weight on the thrust, I will let go of my sword. The person loses his balance, and the next instant, his life. It’s a trick I have gotten too much accustomed to, I fear. I defeated Wallace like that only, you may remember.”

She did remember, “Is that… is that safe, my lord? In a battle…”

“Aye, there are more people around you. Bronze Yohn’s always yelling at me for that. But as I said, I didn’t even get a scratch in this battle.” He grinned, spreading his arms. When Sansa still looked worried, he took her hands in his own, “Oh, don’t worry my love. I felt bad losing the sword you had blessed, but then I remembered, you had ‘blessed me’ as well. I knew I would be all right.”

Sansa blushed. It was the first time he had called her his love, “Well, as long as you let me bless you before the next battle as well…”

He had asked her to bless his sword before he rode to battle. Sansa had smiled, remembering Joffrey and his sword, and the prayer she had sung in the sept afterwards. She had taken the sword from Harry flat on her two hands and kissed it, and after hesitating a moment, kissed Harry on the cheek as well.

He had left her two days away from the Twins, with five hundred men under Ser Lothar. Harry had sent Ser Lyn Corbray ahead, to attack a village half a day’s ride from the Twins. The frightened villagers had run to the Twins with the tales of the outlaws. “Lord Walder’s grown twitchy of late.” Auber had told them, “He will send his best men. And in numbers too, see if he don’t.”

And so he had. Ser Whalen Frey and Walder Rivers had found Harry and his army waiting for them at the village however, instead of a few outlaws. It had been raining, and the Freys hadn’t realized that they had walked into a trap until it was too late.

The castle was now almost bereft of its guards, but it was still a strong castle. “But we can give them more surprises.” Harry told her. Before he had died, Petyr had brokered a deal of grain between the Freys and a few of the Vale lords. “We did not want to deal with Frey” Lord Belmore insisted, “But your father, er, I mean Lord Littlefinger said that the only house in the trident who could afford to buy grain from us were the Freys. And the riverlands needed the food.”

So Harry filled three wagons with soldiers, with Lord Belmore and Ser Brynden inside, and gave them to Wallace Belmore. The wagons posed as the first delivery of grains from Lord Belmore, and the presence of Wallace Belmore only made it more believable. The guards didn’t check inside however. Their attention was on a burning boat approaching them from the north. The wagons had gotten inside the portcullis, and the castle had fallen in an hour.

“There are people you must meet.” Harry told her. She had arrived at the Twins three days after it had fallen. “Please wash, rest, pray, whatever you need to. The northmen want to see the Lady Sansa that rescued them. I will bring them to see you in the evening.” He grinned at her and left. Leaving her with Myranda Royce.

Sansa sat down on the bed with a flop. “Oh, yes. How I have longed for a bed.” She said, streatching. “Do not sleep.” Myranda warned. “You will make the bed wet.”

“Who cares? It is Lord Walder’s bed” Sansa said. But she got up. Tonight. She promised herself. She would sleep the whole night. No more waking before the sun and striking camp. No more horsees and latrine trenches. At least for a little while. Ser Brynden had told her the next march was already under planning.

Her uncle had met her at the gates. She had been afraid for him. He was so old. And she could not bear the thought of some ill befalling him. She had begged him not to go, to stay with her and protect her. But he had only laughed. “I know the Twins better than all these people combined. And I don’t trust Belmore and Nestor to keep your betrothed safe.”

The inclusion of The Blackfish had greatly heartened the army. Harry had told her. Ser Brynden had been the knight of the gate for Lord Jon Arryn for many years. And the tales of his deeds in the war of the ninepenny kings were still told. Even Sansa had heard them as a girl, from her father and her mother. But it still frightened her to think about him going in battle.

The evening saw Sansa wearing the clothes of the eighth’s lady Frey as she greeted the hostages. It were only the northmen. She recognized Lord Umber from one of his visits to her father a lifetime ago. The shrunken giant knelt in front of her. “The winter rose of the north.” He proclaimed her, “And even the lions could not pluck you.”

The others were of a more common birth. But it still filled her heart with joy to see them. Ser Kyle Condon was a Cerwyn man. Medgar Overton and Hawis Woods were from the Rills. There were some Hornwood men and Karstarks as well. One by one they all came and knelt in front of Sansa, thanking her for freeing them from captivity, and promising not to rest until their king had been avenged. “I will twist Roose Bolton’s neck with my bare hands.” The Greatjon promised her with all the rest. Music to her ears that had starved for so long.

Last came Lady Roslin Tully, Sansa’s aunt by marriage. She was holding Little Hoster in her arms. She presented the babe to Sansa. “I wanted to name him Robb.” She said to Sansa, “But I knew my father would not let me.”

Sansa looked at the girl in front of her. Her family was about to die at Sansa’s behest. Sansa remembered how she herself had cried when her father had died. Or every time some news reached of someone in her family dying. The entire day Sansa had wondered whether she should apologize to Lady Roslin for bringing about the fall of her family. She thought it will be a futile effort. There is nothing I can say to her that will make it okay.

But there was no need, almost. “I know my family deserves death for what they did.” Roslin said to her, “I only ask mercy for when you decide fates of the daughters and wives of my house. And of the little children. They are innocent.”

Sansa couldn’t find anything to say. The matter of the hostages was for Harry and his lords to decide. Roslin didn’t wait for a reply though. She turned to Harry. The Greatjon and the others had left, and only Harry and Ser Brynden remained. “My lord. I also beg for my husband. We were together for so short a while, and in such circumstance. Ser Ryman took him with himself, and then they sent him to Casterley Rock as a prisoner. I beg you, free him. I will forever be in your debt.”

“Lord Edmure is Lady Sansa’s own uncle.” Harry told her. “I will free him if I can, I give you my word.”

The Blackfish stepped forward, “But don’t you worry about that, child. You only focus on little Hoster here. Raise him to be the proper Lord of Riverrun.” He took her by the arm. “Come. Let me escort you back to your room.”

Sansa turned to Harry after she was gone. “She seems too calm for someone whose family is about to die.”

“Freys.” Harry shrugged. “Their words are _We Stand Together._ But her family also almost made her a widow, and destroyed her life. I could understand her lack of anger if I were a cold hearted Frey.”

“Or you could poison the man who killed your family.”

Harry frowned, “That is true. But she is the wife of the rightful lord of Riverrun, and mother to hopefully the next. I couldn’t just throw her in the cells with the rest of her family.”

Sansa nodded reluctantly. “Are you truly going to try to free my uncle Edmure?”

“I… I have a notion. But I need support from the riverlanders. However, seeing as how I will be leaving for the north, I don’t know how much of it I could cultivate in such a short time. I will have Seaguard at least.”

“But Black Walder holds Seaguard.” Sansa said. Harry had told her that. A few of the Freys were missing from the Twins when the army of the Vale had approached. Ser Aenys Frey and Ser Hosteen Frey were in the north with Roose Bolton, a few others had vanished at White Harbor, and Ser Edwyn Frey, heir to the Twins had travelled to King’s Landing with the hostages. And Black Walder Frey held Seaguard.

“Nor for long.” Harry assured her. “Patrek Mallister has left for Seaguard. He was the only riverlander hostage remaining here. Dressed as a common man, he will sneak into his own castle and inform his father of his escape from the Twins. He has promised to send for us as soon as Black Walder was subdued, or dead. By now, he should be nearing his home. He is also crucial for us in taking Moat Cailin.” When she looked at him curious, he explained “The Greatjon has told us how your brother meant to take back the Moat from the Ironmen. He meant for ships from Seaguard to sail into the swamps and contact Greywater Watch in his name. Maybe contact was established, maybe not. We will have to ask Lord Jason. Or then take his ships ourselves and send someone into the swamps. With the help of Howland Reed, part of our army can approach the moat from the west while the larger part travels the kingsroad and distracts the defenders. It will be a tough fight, but it must be done. The Freys gone north with Roose Bolton are returning, and the Moat should be with us before they arrive. Otherwise, our crossing is impossible.” He smiled at her and took her hands in her own, “But don’t you worry about it. Just know that I made a promise to you, and I mean to keep it.”

That night she dreamt of Winterfell. The ancient castle of the Starks was a desolation. She did not understand. Hadn’t she restored her home? She was standing outside, and the world was dark. And so very cold. It started snowing. “In winter, it snows for days and nights.” Old Nan told her, though she could not see her “The snows can bury entire villages.” She heard as she started moving, walking towards her castle. Her home. “Little girls get trapped inside their houses. The doors don’t open because of all the snow outside.” She increased her pace, but she could see that she was too late, the snowfall was increasing. “Father.” A sob escaped her, “I am sorry.” Even as she started running towards the castle, she knew that by the time she reached it, the castle would be buried in the snow. And all those inside would be trapped there forever.

A banging on the door awakened her. She sat up, trying to calm her breathing. A dream, it was only a dream. Theon had burned her castle, but Harry and she would soon set it to rights. The door shook again, startling her. “Wait.” She pulled a robe over herself and went to the door.

Maester Amos was without, with Ser Lothar Brune. “I told him that you were sleeping my lady.” Ser Lothar said, “But he insisted he had to meet you.”

“I do my lady, right now.” The maester said. He was a thin man, and tall. He jerked while he talked, as if constantly afraid. “It is urgent. May I come in?”

“Yes I suppose. Do you know what time it is?” Sansa was confused. What did he want of her this late at night? Amos was the new maester the citadel had sent to serve at Winterfell. He had been enjoying the hospitality of the Freys before continuing on his journey north when Harry had taken the castle. He had introduced her to the maester, “This is your lady now.” Harry had told him.

“Terribly sorry to wake you up like this my lady. But it had to be now.” He glanced at Ser Lothar, “It might be best if we could talk alone, my lady.”

Sansa frowned, “Ser Lothar will stay.” She looked at the knight, “Please close the door ser.”

The maester bowed jerkily. His restlessness strongly reminded Sansa of a squirrel. “As you say, m’lady.” He gave her a parchment, “This came in the afternoon. I think you should have a read.” He wiped his forehead, “Let me light a candle.”

His jerky hands knocked the candle over. Frowning, Sansa helped him. The room was cold, then why was the man sweating? And why does he look so guilty? She flattened the parchment beside the candle, and started reading.

It was a letter from Winterfell.

She did not know when she sat on the bed. Lothar Brune was asking her something, but she could not hear him. She looked at the letter again. The parchment was translucent against the candle light, but she could still make out the words. ‘Manderley has betrayed us. The Onion knight is alive, and he has taken the Dreadfort.’ Her brother was alive. She looked up at Maester Amos. “How is this possible? Theon killed them when they tried to escape.”

The maester was fingering his chain, “Maybe they succeeded in escaping. Maybe Prince Theon just found and killed two boys of similar age, to avoid humiliation of admitting he couldn’t hold two boys half his age.”

Sansa shook her head, unable to believe it. “Maybe it is a pretender like that Aegon in Storm’s End. Maybe it is Ser Davos that’s found a boy of Rickon’s age.”

“No.” Maester Amos, “Look at what he says. Lord Bolton’s happy that the boy surfaced so young” He pointed out some lines in the letter, ‘Only six, will not inspire much loyalty.’ And then, ‘The other one is a cripple, and if he has anything in his head apart from snow, he will remain in hiding.’ He is not surprised at this turn of events. He knew that the boys were alive.”

Sansa looked at the letter again. Her throat was constricted and her lips were pressed into a thin line to prevent crying. She read the letter again, her vision blurred by tears. Bran and Rickon were alive. She clutched the letter to her heart, and began to weep.

The maester was not done with her however. “This is no time to be weeping, child.” He came to her side and sat down, putting a hand on her back, soothing her. Lothar Brune stepped forward, but stopped uncertainly. “The letter is great news, I know.” Maester Amos said, “But it raises some big questions. And we need to find the answers.”

Her brothers were alive. What did the maester want? “What do you mean? What questions?”

The maester looked at her with big eyes, his mouth open as if dry. “Questions about the knights of the Vale, child. About Lord Hardying.” He said, drying her eyes with his hands.

About Harry? Suddenly she understood. She looked back at the letter. Rickon was alive, and in hands of Lord Stannis’ Hand. Harry had taken for granted that he will be the next lord of Winterfell, after he kills Tyrion. But if Bran and Rickon were alive, Sansa was not the lady of Winterfell. Find out what a man wants, and you know who he is, and how to move him, Petyr had told her. Sansa still did not know what Harry wanted. Does he want Winterfell? Does he want me? Or does he just want the thrill of the war.

Something in the maester’s demeanor tugged at Sansa’s gut. “What did Harry say about this news?” She asked him, her eyes narrow.

The maester’s hands jerked about his face as if he was shooing off a fly. He jerkily glanced at Lothar Brune “I didn’t think it was wise to show it to him, without consulting you. What if he decides he doesn’t want to support you anymore?”

“What do you care if he supports me or not?”

“I am the maester of Winterfell.” He pulled his chain forward, showing it to her as if she had forgotten it was there, “My duty is to you, first and foremost.”

“I see.” She did not believe him. If she had learned anything, it was that loyalty does not come so easy. But she did not dispute the maester. If he does not want to tell me, I can’t make him. “Some may call it treason. You could at least have gone to Ser Brynden.”

“He was my first choice.” He confessed, eyes downcast, “But there are things you do not know. Your brother King Robb legitimized Jon Snow so he might follow him to his throne should King Robb die without issue.”

“What?”

“Aye. And now Snow’s riding with Queen Selyse.” The letter had mentioned that. Sansa had been glad that Jon was there to look after Rickon. But if he was legitimized… “How do you know of this?” No one had told her so, so it couldn’t be common knowledge.

“Lord Harry’s been letting me sit on the council, being the only maester here. The Greatjon told us this the very first day. Lord Harry was against letting anyone know of the edict. He probably only wanted Winterfell, which won’t be surprising, and didn’t want a legitimate Stark to exist. Though he said it was because Jon Snow is the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. They got into a big argument about it. Until the Blackfish intervened. He said that your mother, the Lady Catelyn never trusted Snow, just like she never trusted Theon Greyjoy, and look how it turned out. The Greatjon shut up at that, but this letter will give him a new voice.”

“Or maybe he will declare for Rickon.”

“And lead the north into war.” He took her hands in his own, “My lady, Prince Rickon is in the hands of Stannis’ forces, and soon half of the north will swear alliance to Selyse.”

“So what? If I were her, I would marry my daughter to Rickon, to unite the two houses claiming kingship.”

“But there other houses claiming kingship. King’s Landing will not stay silent if a King in the North should emerge. Neither little Tommen nor Aegon. There was news from the south. Mace Tyrell has been captured at Storm’s End. Should this Aegon manage to take the Iron Throne, he will turn to the north.”

When they had left Strongsong, Harry had told her of Queen Cersei’s imprisonment. Later, they had received word of Ser Kevan’s death and the fighting between the Tyrells and the Lannisters. Sansa had assured Harry that the Tyrells had no cause to hate Sansa. That Joffrey had been killed by Lady Olenna Tyrell herself. Should they take Winterfell in Sansa’s name, Harry was confident that the Tyrells would accept it, to avoid war, as long as they swore fealty to Tommen. But the maester was right. Should Rickon become King in the North, neither Tommen nor Aegon would remain silent. “So what? Kingship is Rickon’s right, as Robb’s heir. Let the southron knights batter themselves against Moat Cailin.” No army had ever taken from the south. Harry would be the first.

“And what about the Vale? News of Mace Tyrell’s capture has already shaken Lord Harry. With trouble so close to home, he also fears rebellion. He is a son of a landed knight who is dragging his kingdom to war. He has not forgotten how King Robb was later called the King Who Lost the North, I promise you. Should Prince Rickon become King Rickon, Lord Hardying won’t escort you home, My Lady.”

“If that happens, he is not needed to. Rickon will be the Stark in Winterfell, and I will be his sister married to the Lord of the Vale. What is so bad about that?”

“He won’t be Stark in Winterfell. The Onion Knight will move south after taking Winterfell, to take King’s Landing for his queen. Only if I were him, I will marry Queen Shireen to Jon Snow, for he could lead the armies of the north. Your betrothed might join him for your sake, to make your brother king of the seven kingdoms, but even that way there is war to be had.”

“War is to be had any way, maester.”

“No my lady. Not if Shireen marries King Aegon.” He paused, letting the statement sink in. “That is why I didn’t go to Ser Brynden. Who probably would want Prince Rickon to follow into kingship. But you could convince him otherwise. Should Tommen endure, I agree that there will be war. But we can influence that outcome if Lord Harry stays in the riverlands. You have already once lost your family to war my lady. Now, two of your brothers are about to be drawn into another one. Won’t you rather they sought peace?”

“But how?” Sansa asked. “By the time we reach Winterfell, whatever marriages are planned will be done.”

“Ravens travel fast, child. Last Hearth has declared for Selyse. They could carry your message to the Queen. Write to her that you will make Shireen so strong with the alliances of the Vale and the Riverlands that Aegon will have no choice but to take her to bride. Ask her to make Prince Rickon Lord of Winterfell, and send Lord Snow back to his rightful place at Castle Black.”

“But that will make the Greatjon wroth. And not only him, if Ser Brynden doesn’t listen to me.” Sansa objected. Her head was spinning from all this talk of alliances, “And they were not the only ones to proclaim Robb as their king. They will all want Rickon as their king, not a Targaryen. Or Jon, who can fight. What if they convince Jon to take up kingship?” History was full of examples of bastard brothers who had turned on their trueborn siblings.

“It is for that matter only I showed this letter to you first, my lady. All this I could have convinced the council myself. But the attitude of the northemen is the roach in my rushes.” He shook his head. “Westeros is one land. It needs one king. One king means peace.” He sighed. “Maybe all this talk is fruitless as well. There is no guarantee that your brothers will prevail in the north. Ramsay Bolton has besieged the Dreadfort, but Selyse is still travelling to Winterfell. Such folly will only get her killed. The Umbers have joined her, but Roose Bolton is right, a six year old boy and a deserter bastard from the Night’s Watch won’t inspire much loyalty, especially if the Knight’s of the Vale remain in the Riverlands.”

“The knights of the vale will go north maester Amos. Only Harry will stay here to treat with King Aegon.” Sansa stood up. “Tomorrow, present this letter to the council, tell them it has just arrived, and see to it that I am summoned. It is time my father’s bannermen knew why their lord was beheaded.” She had never told this to anyone. She only had just realized, in the dream, that she had not admitted this to herself either. I knew all along. Deep in my heart. “My father meant for Lord Stannis to take the throne.” She told the maester, “Only, Cersei seized the letter. I do not know how she got wind of it. It must have been Varys.” It was me. I told her my father was sending me to Dragonstone. For a moment, a raw red hatred rose up inside her, against herself. _You killed them all_ , a voice shrieked at her. But she strangled it and kept talking, “When the Greatjon hears this, he will accept Shireen as his queen, and that Robb erred.” _You made your brother a traitor,_ the voice whispered again. “After him, all the other bannermen that declared for Robb should follow suit as well.”

The maester did not notice her inner battle. “Lord Harry cannot stay in the Riverlands without his army my lady.”

“He won’t be. Bronze Yohn is marshalling another army in the Vale. Harry will lead it south. The one going north he will place under the command of my uncle Brynden Blackfish”

“Even so. The north will need to know that he supports you. If he is not present…”

“Oh, they will know that Harry supports me. I assure you.” It felt as if there was a fire burning inside her. “Tell me, is it true that the Freys hacked the head off of my brother,” She asked Maester Amos, “and nailed the head of his direwolf in its place?”


	20. Asha I

Asha Greyjoy pulled off her gloves and spread her hands against the sun. It felt so good to feel the sunlight on her face after so long a time. She took in a deep breath. The air was still cold, but the sun warmed her face enough to let her feel hopeful.

She heard footsteps behind her. “A good day.” Qarl came to stand beside her. “The storm is finally past us. We may not get a better chance than this.”

A better chance than this! Good or bad weather had never been the problem however. It was merely an excuse. An excuse Asha had made herself believe to allow herself to stay at the village. It will be a hard march in the snow. We won’t survive without food. The wolves are searching for us... In the village, there were hovels and huts that protected the ironmen from the winds. Food was stored in the modest stone tower. And there were no swords being waved at her and her men. And even if she got past the wolves, where would she go? Torrhen’s Square had fallen. And she will find no welcome at the Iron Islands.

But they could not stay here forever. Sooner or later they will be found out.  And the Boltons will flay us all. If not them, then it will be the advancing army of Howland Reed. Asha looked at Qarl and nodded. “Aye. It is time. Pry them apart from the women, and tell them to prepare for the march.”

They had been here for more than a fortnight. Three hundred ironmen hiding in the Bony Village in the Barrowlands. Hiding like deer from wolves. She wondered what her father might say if he saw her like this.

But they had had to. There was no other choice. Torrhen’s Square had fallen. And the knights from White Harbor prowled The Rills and the Stony Shore for Ironmen. Asha still couldn’t understand what folly had made Dagmer ride to the Village Green. Luton, one of Cleftjaw’s men, told her that he had received a letter from Roose Bolton, telling him of her’s and Theon’s imprisonment by Stannis. Bolton offered him a chance to rescue her, by attacking Stannis from the rear while he was under attack by Ramsay Bolton. Dagmer had taken the chance to save his princess and his prince. “He blamed himself for letting Theon go to Winterfell. And for what happened to him there.” Luton told her. And so Dagmer obliged Roose Bolton. Never fearing that Roose Bolton might chance defeat from Stannis by sending half his army to Torrhen’s Square.

The gamble had paid off so well for Bolton. Dagmer arrived on the fourth day of the battle. Ramsay Snow had rallied his army of the Freys and the northmen for the second time and had attacked Stannis again. Asha had been given a mace and placed in the rear. When the arrows starting falling from the wrong direction, no one could understand how the Boltons had rounded behind them. Ser Corliss Penny, who commanded the rear, tried to form his men against them, but that ended when he himself was felled by an arrow. Asha had grabbed Theon and rounded her men, thinking now was the time to die, when she spotted a familiar face. By the time Stannis’ knights understood what was happening, Dagmer had used the element of surprise to destroy the thousand men rear with his mere five hundred. Stannis lived only because he was in the center, and the Ironmen left by the time he came to aid the rear.

Theon felt that it was not really a gamble however. He claimed Bolton had almost no other choice. “Bolton never trusted Manderley.” He told Asha. “The entire castle thought that Manderley had killed the Freys at White Harbor. And then there were murders happening in Winterfell itself. Someone was stealing the swords of the kings. Lord Bolton could not chance a betrayal in the battlefield. So he sent Manderley knights to fight the Ironmen.” He had started laughing then, until the laughter turned to sobs. He begged her to kill him. “I can’t get captured by them again.” he pleaded with her, “Ramsay will… Lord Ramsay will… Please sister. Kill me.”

But how could she kill her own brother? She was no kinslayer. And she needed Theon. So she told him that everything will be okay. That she will take him to the Iron Islands. She will take him home.

Her brother was not stupid though. He knew what was happening. When they arrived near Torrhen’s Square, the Cleftjaw had realized his folly. Raging, he refused to listen to Asha’s advice about making for the Stoney Shore. The old warrior will not be perceived a fool right after winning his most glorious battle. He proceeded to storm the walls of Torrhen’s Square, only to be pushed off of them. The fall killed him, and left the army in Asha’s hands. She tried leading them west. But after ten raids upon them by the Manderley’s in mere three days, she had been forced to retreat into the Barrowlands. So now they were hiding in the Bony Village, hoping that their paths will clear. Whilst Theon’s eyes grew more and more haunted with each passing day.

They were ready to leave by the midday. Asha summoned Lewis and told him of their departing. “I hope the Manderleys find you.” The hoary old man spat at her feet. “There haven’t been near enough squids in the wolf’s den. It’s about time they added a few.”

Asha didn’t let her temper rise. She actually couldn’t care less about what the old man thought of her. The Ironmen had shrunk the population of his village from five hundred to a measly hundred. She understood why he might not look upon her kindly. “Go to your son and take care of him.” She told him and turned around.

A shout rang out across the village square. It were two of her scouts. They reined up before her and Lewis. “’Tis soldiers.” Mareon said to her as he calmed his horse. “Not scouts. About a hundred.”

Asha bit her lip as a grin formed across the Lewis’ face. “They are here, girl. Can you hear them? Your screams as your nipples are cut off…” He fell to his knees from a blow from Jared, the second scout.

Asha raised her arm. “Leave him be. A few words won’t cut my nipples off. These soldiers might though. Did you see any banners? Is it Howland Reed?” He should still be about two or three days away. And the Bony Village was definitely not on the way from Greywater Watch to Winterfell.

They shook their heads. “Only white flags.” Jared supplied more, “They are not Freys either, I can say that much. They were not running, not putting much effort in hiding either. Might be an envoy.”

Asha grimaced. It would have been better if it were Freys. Her three hundred will make a short work of even a hundred war weary Freys. After defeating Stannis, Aenys Frey had led his men back south. It had been just to hide from their scouts that Asha had decided to hide in the Bony Village. Aenys Frey only made to Moat Cailin, however. From what Asha had heard, the Freys had been routed by a host raised by Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch, and Lady Stoneheart, some women from the riverlands. The Freys had fallen back, and some had even strayed into the Bony Village, to die at the hands of Ironmen.

But if these soldiers were not Freys, people might ask questions about who killed them. Asha could not risk making Howland Reed aware of an Ironman host so near him. She called Tris and Qarl, “We must carry on the farce for a day more. Let’s go to the tower.”

The Tower was a three story building thrice the size of the one in the Village Green where Stannis had made his last camp. It was in the center of the village, in front of the village square. The hovels and rooftops of the houses spread in all direction from the tower. A few yards away from the tower was a well atop which a bell hung.

The bell or the tower had not helped the villagers when the Ironmen had come, however. They had entered the village in the cover of night from all sides. Asha’s men had broken into houses and killed the sleeping men and women alike. By the time the bell began to toll, the village was half occupied by the Ironmen. Asha had taken utmost care not to allow any man to run, lest they might alert her enemies. From then on, for three weeks, the children of the remaining villagers had been kept hostages in the tower while the men and women were forced to act normally. “You may betray us.” Asha had told Lewis, “And we will die. But not before your own children.” The Ironmen could be distinguished from the northmen from their accents, so Asha had forced Lewis and a few of his people to interact with anyone that might come into the village. The few Freys and Manderley that had come had not suspected any trap, until the Ironmen took out their wepons hidden in the hovels and sent them to their respective hells. But this was the largest group to come to the village since it had been occupied.

When an army approaches a village, the peasants and farmers abandon their houses by a rule and run for whatever fortification their village has. So Asha had them all gather in the tower. The Ironmen as well as the villagers. It was a big enough tower, with square sides and a terrace with crenels, but still it was crowded. She also sent Tris with a few men away from the village, to come back and surprise the enemy in case a fight broke out.

It was sunset when the envoy entered the village, which they found deserted. “They are coming towards the tower.” Drumm called from his arrow slit. Soon a voice called to them from below.

“You in the tower. Open your gates. We mean you no harm.” It was a women’s voice, Asha realized, startled. “We are men of Winterfell.” The voice below said.

Asha nodded to Lewis even as Qarl tightened his sword on his son’s throat. The old man gave him a dark look as he called down below, “Bolton?” he asked.

“No. Reed men.” Came the answer from below. “We come in peace. We only want to stay the night.”

“If so, then you will leave us be. Your lord won’t want you raping and looting northmen itself.”

Theon was at the window as well. Looking for any signs of Boltons. He suddenly turned and came to Asha. “It’s Jamie Lannister.” He whispered to her, his eyes wide.

“What? What are you talking about?” Lewis was still talking, and Asha had to hear it.

“I swear.” Theon said, tugging at her sleeve like a child. “I remember him from his visit to Winterfell. And his right hand ends in a stump. Just like we had heard.”

Asha looked at him, “Why will the Kingslayer be with Howland Reed.”

“Maybe he is a captive.” Theon said, “I saw Hallis Mollen and some other guards from Winterfell as well. Lannister has to be a captive.”

What was this? Was this a gift from the drowned god? But the sea was so far away. Maybe it was a trap by the old gods of the north. To lead Asha to her death. “Are you sure?” She asked Theon. “Completely sure?”

The northmen numbered about a hundred. And almost all of them were gathered beneath the tower. Asha had pulled all the iromen, save those with Tris, inside the tower, for fear that they might be discovered if the northmen started rooting through the houses. Now she wished she had hidden some in the houses, for none of the northmen were looting the houses. It would have meant an attack on them from all the sides.

She sent out Roggon and Lewis in the lead. With a gentle stream of ironmen behind them so as not to alarm the visitors.  The northmen were waiting for them since Lewis had told them that they would open the gates.

It was a women that led them. She had her helm in her hands and her Asha could see her badly scarred face. She sat atop a courser with the pommel of a sword poking from her hip. A shield adorned her back, and a Morningstar lay from her saddle. She obviously had a good command on the northmen, to have stopped them from looting the village. But that could also mean that the soldiers would break soon as she was dead. Beside her was the man Theon had spoken of. Matted, filthy hair covered his face, but Asha could see the gold beneath them. And then there was the stump. It could be The Kingslayer. But he wore no chains. Even had a sword on his saddle.

The women came forward as Roggon and Lewis approached her. She started to say something, until Roggon drew his sword and slashed at her. The women jerked back as the sword scraped against her armor and bit into her horse’s neck. She threw herself down on the ground from the bucking horse, and just in time, for arrows started sprouting from the horse’s back.

“Forward.” Screamed Asha as she started to run. The group of northmen exploded like a hornet’s nest as the Ironmen got into their horse lines. “Surround them.” Asha shouted, waving Cromm and Qarl to the other side. The horses would have given the northmen an advantage, but not if they were confined in a small ring with no space to move. And any that managed to get away to calm their horses were being picked by the archers in the tower.

Asha heard the fire arrows hissing through the sky. That was the signal for Tris to come back. Asha vowed she will not leave any northmen for him to kill. Using her shield to press against the rearing horses, she pushed forward, driving her spear at the riders. The horses shrieked as they died, dropping the northmen on the ground to be either trampled or stabbed. A bowman tried to take an aim at Asha, but got her spear through his eye instead. Asha pulled her axe from her back. There was a dull ache in her ankle. Drumm had set her ankle, but the old wound was firing up again. It still felt good to be killing northmen again however.

But the northmen soon broke free from ring. The door of the tower had been too small, and Asha’s men had not been able to come fast enough. No matter though. “After them.” Asha shouted. Her Ironmen cheered as they renewed their attack.

She threw her axe and caught the first horse in front her in its chest. The horse bucked and fell, taking down two behind him. Her ironmen fell on them like crows on a carcass. A rider came at her swinging a mace. She ducked his blow, looking for her axe. She looked for the rider when she retrieved it, but he was gone, only to be replaced by another. A crannogman. The man was short like all his brethren, but his frog spear was long. One scrape from it, and it won’t matter if I live this fight or not. The marsh dwellers were not accustomed to fight from a horse, though, and soon Asha had caught his hand and pulled him down. She slammed her axe into his face.

Elsewhere, the fight had spread out across and beyond the village square. Drumm was keeping a spear off of himself while trying to take the reins of a horse. Rudden and Mark had each mounted a horse, and were sparring with some Winterfell men. Asha saw Roggon dead where he had accosted the northmen’s leader. Lewis was right beside him. The women had almost cut him in half. She herself was fighting Qarl and Jarl. Her sword a blur around her as she took on both the men at once. Until suddenly it was only Jarl she was fighting, and Qarl’s head was rolling on the ground.

Asha’s sight went red. It was as if all the blood in her body had gone right into her head. She didn’t even remember throwing her axe, but suddenly it was embedded in the other women’s shield. She had gotten it up just in time. Screaming, Asha ran towards her. Jarl fell just as Asha launched herself on the tall swordswomen. She registered a look of surprise on her foe’ face as they both went down.

The two women rolled and grappled in the pink and muddy snow. The other women’s sword was lying on the ground, but she pulled out a dirk. Suddenly, she was on top of Asha, holding the dirk to her throat. “Yield.” Her foe hissed. “I don’t wish to kill another women.”

But Asha’s hand closed on the handle of her axe that was lying trapped in the other women’s shield beside them. With a snarl she brought it up and slammed the shield and the axe in her opponent’s head.

They rolled on the ground once or twice again, until Asha got the upper hand. Straddling the women, she freed her axe from the shield. She brought it down, but it sunk in the ground as the other women ducked aside. No matter, Asha thought. I am just getting started. Asha took hold of her opponent’s head and slammed it on the ground. The thud was a sweet sound, as was the women’s gasp. So Asha did it again. And again.

Suddenly, the women screamed. “No.” She roared, startling Asha, “Not again.” And her hands were on Asha’s ears. Gripping her head. The women head butted Asha. And then slammed her head into her own axe. The flat of the axe, fortunately. Dazed, Asha felt the women get free from under her. She picked up her axe as she got up, and raised it just in time as the women’s sword came hissing towards her face.

All of the hesitation of her foe had disappeared. “Not fucking again.” She heard the women mutter.  Now she swung her sword to kill. But Asha would not go down so easily. And when the other women slowed down to take a breath, she renewed her attacks.

The women’s shield was getting a battering from Asha’s axe. Bulling forward, Asha drove the women across the town square with her axe. Qarl’s face kept coming to her mind. The smoothness of his cheeks as she would caress him. I will gut you bitch, Asha thought as the women ducked under a swing.

But she couldn’t. The sword was always there. Or the shield to block Asha. Soon Asha was breathing heavily. And her axe was growing heavier in her hands. She looked at the other women across their weapons, and a chill went down Asha’s spine.

She saw in her eyes a cold determination to kill her foe. All of her blows were measured. Meant only to defend. She is waiting for me to get tired. She is waiting for me to make a mistake. And Asha knew she was close.

It felt as if Asha was perpetually falling, and righting herself only by swinging her axe. She could not stop. Could not even slow down. The women had not stopped to take a breath, but had shown Asha bait. And Asha had bitten hard. Her cloak flapped behind her, making snapping noises that startled her. What if her axe got tangled in it? Her hair were in her eyes. Her feet trod the pink ice, and Asha kept thinking that the on the next step her foot will stumble on a buried root, or slip from an unseen rock. Was that fear in the back of her throat. It felt as if around her, the battle was happening in the slow motion. Was Balon Greyjoy’s daughter hoping that someone would come rescue her?

Suddenly, there was a shout, and the women vanished from in front of Asha. There was a horse, and then Tris was there. Asha fell to one knee. Her fist resting on the ground. She tried to catch her breath. Her heart was in her throat, and she tried not to retch, convinced that it would fall through. It was the Valyrian sword. That goddamned women almost killed me. If Tris hadn’t come, I would be with Qarl in the Watery Halls of the Drowned God. Or would it have been the nameless hells of the old gods?

Tris helped her up as Asha got her breath back. “They are down.” He told her. He had no idea how close she had come to her death. Or that he had saved her.

Asha looked around. The northmen had yielded. Her wounded were helping each other to the Tower. While on her right, Jared was herding the surviving northmen together. Asha refused to look at Qarl’s body. She needed her wits about her right now. Grief wouldn’t help. “How many are left you think?” She asked Tris.

Tris looked around the town square. “Less two hundred, I would say.” He looked back at Asha, “That’s too low. Why did we do this Asha?” He asked her.

Asha was in no mood to be questioned, however. “Bring Theon to me.” She told Tris and left him there and went to do something for her throat.

Soon, the Greyjoy siblings made their way towards the prisoners. “Thirty-three.” Mareon told her. From his tone, Asha understood that her men had the same question as Tris. Drowned God, if you can hear me from so far away, please don’t let this turn out to be a mistake.

A sergeant of the north recognized Theon as the two of them approached the northmen. “Greyjoy. Is that you?” He said, squinting at her brother. A laugh burst from his lips, defiant. “Gods be good. If a man ever got what he deserved…”

Asha sipped out the sword she had taken and laid it on the man’s neck. “Who is this?” She asked her brother.

“Hallis Mollen. Hal.” Theon told her. “Lord Stark’s captain of guards. I am surprised he isn’t dead.”

“And I am glad you aren’t, you turncloak.” Mollen spat on the ground, “Just wait till Lady Catelyn gets her hands on you.”

“What?” Theon said at the same time as the women leader of the northmen warned Hallis Mollen to shut up. She addressed Asha, “It is me you want to speak to. I am leading this host. I am Brienne of Tarth. Who are you?”

Asha ground her teeth. She killed Qarl. All her instincts told her to snick her head off. Instead, she lowered her sword. “Asha Greyjoy. Daughter of King Balon Greyjoy. What is Tarth doing in the North? With Jaime Lannister?”

Brienne of Tarth didn’t even blink, “What Lannister?”

But her prisoner sold her out. “Theon Greyjoy was a ward of Ned Stark the last time I was at Winterfell.” He said in with a smile. “He recognized me. No doubt.” Through his matted hair, he smiled at Asha. “Why would Balon Greyjoy’s daughter try to free me?”

On his knees, with his stump before him, he did not look like much. Though no doubt handsome, he was thinner than any knight would be. “So you _were_ a prisoner. But with no chains and carrying a sword. How?”

“My gaoler is kind.”

Kinder than your last, at least. “Where were you headed? Lord Bolton?”

“No. Selyse.”

“Jaime!” Brienne intervened. As if she couldn’t believe her captive was talking to her enemies. “What?” Lannister asked. “I have only the one hand left. Call me craven if you want, but I will talk.”

And talk he did. But he was no craven. He knew that to win Asha’s trust, he had to give her everything he had. And that is exactly what Asha took, as Brienne of Tarth looked on with an expression of hurt on her face.

He told her all. About the reality of Howland Reed’s army and who was leading it. He told her that this envoy was to be the start of an alliance with Selyse and then Stannis. He told her that Lady Catelyn had sent them off the kingsroad to reach Selyse without meeting any army like the Freys. She had not anticipated any hiding ironmen.

“Now I have given you everything.” He said when he was done, “It is your turn. What do you mean to do with me?”

Tris was behind her. Watching her. As were many of her men. Theon was to her right, looking at her with big eyes. “I mean to send you to Lord Bolton at Winterfell.” Asha told Lannister, “Hoping that Lannisters pay their debts.”

“We do.” He smiled at her, “How many dragons will you like.”

Why did he have to mention dragons? “Not dragons. But swords. I need support from King’s Landing to win back my rightful seat at the Iron Islands.”

“Did someone steal it?”

“My uncle. Crow’s Eye. And he killed my father, I am sure of it. He is currently ravaging the Reach, the last we heard. But King’s Landing also has Jon Connington to worry about.” A captive Frey soldier had told them this and more. “If you convince Roose Bolton to let me and my men pass to the Stoney Shore unmolested, I will sail to the Iron Islands and raise them against my uncle, force him to turn back home from the Reach. That will take pressure off of King’s Landing. There are many in the Iron Islands that are still loyal to me. And hate the Crow’s Eye. But I cannot win alone. I will need help from Casterley Rock.”

They left the next morning. She gave Lannister ten guards. “Drop him a day from Winterfell,” She told Luton, to whom she had given the command, “or to the first scout you see wearing a pink badge.” Ten was the best she could do, given that she herself needed protection from the Manderleys.

“It will be better if you come with me.” Lannister said to her from his horse. “To parley with the Lord Leech. And it will also keep you safe from Manderley’s soldiers.”

“I will not walk into the house of Leeches.” She said glancing at Theon, who had also come to see them off. “If you want me safe from Manderley men, ride hard for Winterfell. Otherwise I may not live to cause trouble for my uncle. Just remember that my uncle has promised the Ironmen the Iron Throne. If you don’t want him knocking on the doors of Red Keep right after Connington, you will reach Winterfell as fast as you can.”

The Kingslayer nooded. He took the reins of his horse in his one hand and nodded towards Lady Brienne. “There is no need for these chains,” He said gesturing, “My lady has no problem with you plan. She won’t run.” He had asked for the maid of Tarth to be allowed to come with him. This was a strange relationship between a captor and the prisoner, and Asha could not figure it out. But she had no use for the southron women knight, and it minimize the risk of Asha killing a prisoner just for revenge. So she had saddled a horse for her as well.

But the look Brienne of Tarth now gave Lannister was pure loathing. Noticing it, he to spoke to her, “Oh, don’t look so angry. You wanted this outcome. This serves your purpose as well. You were going to kill Stannis. I will make Roose Bolton command his son to destroy his body, and there will be no need for you to break you oath to the Lady Catelyn. You can go back to your father.”

Anger clouded the scarred women’s face. Through clenched teeth, she asked the Kingslayer, “And the oath you swore to her? To never take up sword against any from house Stark?”

“I cannot even take up a sword. What with this stump of mine. Anyways, your m’lady already thinks I have broken it. She had condemned me to the fires, if you recall.”

“If you think you are kicking my lady’s plans to splinters, you are mistaken.” Brienne said to both the Kingslayer and to Asha, “Lady Catelyn never believed that Stannis will let King Robb’s legitimization of Jon Snow stand, considering that he thought Robb Stark a traitor. Nor did she think he will let a bastard from the Night’s Watch become the lord of Winterfell. And from what I heard about the man in Renly’s camp, she is right. But then Selyse joined hands with Snow. Lady Catelyn does not need Stannis. She needed Lord Reed. That is why she made up the story of waking him up.” There was a fire in her eyes as she spoke. She smiled at them both, “She sent me ahead so that I will be able to kill Stannis or destroy his body without Lord Reed’s interference.” She looked at Asha defiantly, “Scheme all you like, you will get what’s coming for you soon.” She turned her horse and started trotting, her chains rattling around her. The rest of the party glanced at Asha uncertainly, and then started following Tarth northward.

Asha watched them go, the women’s words playing on her mind. Her thoughts were interrupted when Tris came up to her. “Good plan.” He said, “But also a dangerous one. What if Bolton fails? Selyse has an army, and Bolton’s Bastard is at Dreadfort with the better part of his father’s forces. And apparently you haven’t destroyed whatever this dead Stark women was planning.”

“No. But the southron Lady’s revelations were not all that damaging.” She smiled at Tris, “Two ships are better than one in a storm, lest one sinks. And Brienne of Tarth has shown me how to get to the other ship.”

“What other ship? Lady Stark?” Tris asked, “You mean to make an alliance with her?”

“Aye. One of the two parties will be dead when the battles are over, but we will have an ally.”

“She probably hates Ironmen. Why will she make an alliance with us?”

“Because we will tell her that she needs Stannis.” Theon said, smiling at Asha, “Rickon is alive. Lady Catelyn does not need Jon Snow as Lord of Winterfell. We will tell her that I let Rickon and Bran run. And now she can have him back. And she can have Stannis as well, to lead the armies of the north to avenge Robb and her husband.”


	21. Jon III

Alysanne Mormont slammed her wine goblet on the table, “The Night’s Watch has no business south of the gift.” She said glaring at Jon.

They were in the Flint’s hall. Seated around the round table. All major clans were here, and Alysanne Mormont, heiress of the Bear Islands. They had just returned home with their survivors when Jon had arrived at their doorsteps to call them back to battle. No wonder they were reluctant.

“And the lords of the south don’t interfere with the command of the watch.” Jon Snow answered, “The Bastard threatened to cut my heart out and eat it. He asked me to turn my guests over to him, people that saved the wall while all of you were sleeping in your beds.”

Alysanne Mormont flushed. “My uncle wrote to me about these blue eyed corpses.” She hissed at him, “You should be worrying about them. Not about the high seat of the Starks.”

“There is also the matter of the wildlings.” Old Flint said gravely. “M’lord Snow promised us that they will remain on the wall. Yet now they root through the ancient wolfswood. Straight into the heartland of the north.”

“To avenge the king you supported.” Jon pointed out “And only the fighting men are marching. The wives and mothers and the children remain at Mole’s town.” He spread his hands, “You cannot lay this charge at my door, my lords. This was the queen’s doing. She had need of men, and the wildlings were eager for the glory. They thought they could do what you couldn’t.” That should get their blood boiling. Selyse had not come with Jon to persuade the clansmen to join her. The proud clansmen might take it as an affront, but had Selyse and Melisandre come, the wildlings would also have come, which was out of the question. So now Selyse was marching along the kingsroad with a slow pace, hoping that Jon could bring a proper army for her. It was proving just as difficult as Jon had anticipated.

Morgan Liddle bristled at Jon’s words, “Couldn’t? It were the thrice cursed Ironmen. Took us in the rear.” His eyebrows met as he scowled, “And that bloody Arnolf Karstark. He told Bolton about the lakes and our plans. The King wanted to drive the Boltons into the lake. The ice floor was like cheese, we had been fishing so much. It wouldn’t have taken the weight of the army. We tried three times. Even after our rear broke. The last time, we had them pinned. But that thrice cursed arrow…” He made a gesture. “If Tormund the Bear-Whore thinks he can do better than us, I say let’s let him.”

“And leave my brother in his hands?” Jon asked, “Rickon is six my lords. You would not want the Stark in Winterfell be raised as a wildling, would you?”

“And will he be the Stark in Winterfell?” Liddle growled, “Wouldn’t the southron queen rather have someone who can lead an army as the lord of Winterfell?”

“I do not mean to steal my brother’s birthright, Liddle, if that is what you are implying” Jon said in a cold tone, “My place is at the wall.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I told you.” Jon said, trying not to sound impatient, “Ramsay Snow threatened to cut my heart out and eat it. And I mean to make him pay for his words. The Night’s Watch is a servant of the Seven Kingdoms, but that does not mean you can disrespect it.” Jon was used to negotiate with hard men. The wall had been full of them. But he would be lying if he said that these men didn’t frighten him. They were all looking at him. Old Flint, his sons Artos Flint and Black Donnel Flint. The Norrey and the younger Norrey. Morgan Liddle and Will Harcley. Any of them could pronounce him an oathbreaker and hang him. He knew Alysanne Mormont wanted to. “If you fear that I might try to usurp my brother’s place,” He said to them, “I think the best recourse you have is to come to Winterfell with me and make sure that that does not happen”

Morgan Liddle flushed. The Old Flint snorted. But the She Bear stood up from her seat, “That sword you sport on your hip,” She nodded towards Longclaw which was currently hanging from the wall on a peg, “It belongs to the Mormonts. My mother sent it to our uncle at the wall after Jorah fled. She later told me that he never used it. That it reminded him of Jorah’s shame. I wonder what he will think about having the sword in your hands if he could see you now. That sword deserves better than you.” She looked about herself, to the chiefs and their sons seated on their chairs, “I can see that your decision is made. There must be a Stark in Winterfell, I agree. But it matters how we get him there. If the roots of the tree are poisoned, the entire tree dies.” With a screech, she pushed her chair back and got out, “I will not serve in an army led by someone wearing a black cloak side by side with wildlings.” She said and stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind her.

Jon watched her go. What would the Old Bear say, truly? It had been better when he had a father, or a Lord Commander, to tell him what to do. To tell him what was right. Even a measter’s council. You know nothing Jon Snow, Yigrette used to say, and she was right. He didn’t know if what he was doing was right. But how could trying to save your brother be wrong? He didn’t know if he was an oathbreaker. He didn’t know if this was what his father would have done. If he would be proud of Jon, or say that his dishonor was only that. A dishonor.

“That is a regret.” Big Bucket Wull said, “House Mormont is a great house and well respected. If you lose them…” He gave a shake of his head, “It won’t look good.”

“And what about you my lord?” Jon asked leaning forward. “I may have already lost Alysanne Mormont, but what about you? Have I lost you as well? Has Rickon?”

“No.” The Wull said. He looked around the table to see if anybody will contradict him. Nobody did. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say that Prince Rickon has not lost us.” Jon nodded. “Boltons have committed crimes beyond count.” Wull continued, “That poor girl. Lady Hornwood. The Young Wolf. All our friends at the Twins.” His voice rose as he made a huge fist, “Roose Bolton is a leech upon the north.” he said, “He cannot be suffered to hold Winterfell. He must pay for his crimes. The north remembers.”

They reached Selyse’s army five days later. Jon got a surprise when he was greeted by Ser Richard Horpe. “Ser Richard has brought our knights back.” Selyse told him when he went to see her, “Six hundred and fourty three of nearly eleven hundred that came north with Stannis.” She fumed. She rounded on Jon, “How many have you brought, my lord?”

“About twenty six hundred strong, your grace.” Jon said. Selyse grimaced. Their army right now totaled about four thousand. But Bolton was supposed to have a little less than that behind the walls of Winterfell. “Your Grace,” Jon said, “I still say we should go to Dreadfort. Ramsay Snow is there with less than three thousand swords. We can trap him under the walls of Dreadfort and…”

Selyse held up a hand, “We have heard this before. Lady Melisandre says no.” She looked at the red women, who was always present to whisper in the queen’s ear. “Your brother will be safe surrounded by Dreadfort’s walls, Lord Snow.” The red women said. She was gazing into the fire that was lit on the ground. They had camped for the night, and the prayers had just been done, “Wasn’t it you who counseled King Stannis against marching on the Dreadfort? Lord Davos has about two thousand men. He will hold the Dreadfort. We need to get the King’s body.”

“Ramsay Snow had the body. And still does if he hasn’t already destroyed it.” Jon said. Melisandre shook her head, “I told you, I’ve seen it in the fires. The flames do not lie.” She spoke over Jon when he started to protest, “And not only that. Ser Richard’s scouts spotted a strong escort taking a wagon back to Winterfell. He thinks that Snow feared us attacking him the same way you were planning to. So when he found out that Selyse had marched from Castle Black, he sent the body to his father.”

“Even if he did, my lady,” Jon said, “we could never get to it before it reaches Winterfell. And it is lost after is passes the gates. Roose Bolton will have no use for it anymore when you are at his doorstep. We cannot get to the body.”

Melisandre smiled at him her infuriating smile, the smile of those who think they know it all, “Have faith in the god, my lord of Snow. He will protect his servant Stannis. Haven’t you already seen his power?”

Jon ground his teeth. He knew of the red god’s power. He just didn’t have any faith in him. Stannis had had faith in the red god, and look where it got him. He withdrew from their presence before he insulted them or their god.

They continued the march through the wolfswood. The redwoods and ash and oaks watched them pass silently. Sometimes the hills would be filled with pines and senitnels, where in some places, the woods had lost their leaves, and all around them rose the skeleton trees. Soon Jon started seeing familiar places. Memories of so many hunting trips. There was a creek in which he and Robb had fought with mud balls once. A jagged rock in an overgrowth reminded him of the time Theon had put an arrow through a tiger’s eye. A meadow where Jon’s horse had broken its leg while racing Robb. The arrogant Stark had rounded back and just sat there laughing at Jon as Alyn helped him up. It still made Jon smile to remember those times of the past. And it hurt as well. Even Ghost felt his pain. He would howl in the nights, and in the wolf dreams Jon would see the two boys, Snow and Stark with their father as they had been in the memories of the wolfswood.

The march was a slow and frustrating one. Jon had split the army into three columns. It had no rear or van. Rather, the wildlings marched on the east side, and the northmen on the west. With the southron knights in the middle. With three columns however, the speed was slow. And with the wildlings, even slower. And the fights… Jon had split the army this way only to separate the northmen and the wildlings, yet they still managed to find cause for knifings and brawls. Their hatred for each other transcended all reason, and almost every other day Jon had to ride up or down the column or into the camp with scores of spearmen and break up a fight.

They had left the long lake behind them when they met with a surprise. Crowfood Umber had the charge of their scouts, and he led about a two hundred men into their camp one afternoon. “A head.” He told them when they all were together. Jon, Tormund, Melisandre and Selyse and some of her queen’s men. Crowfood was grinning. “One head each at Torrhen’s square, Deepwood Motte and the Bear Island. Some Frey. The letter was by Sansa Stark. She writes that she is coming north with an army of ten thousand strong from the Vale of the Arryn. To take back her family’s home from the traitors. She warns the houses of the north to declare for Rickon and Shireen, or meet the same end as the Freys have.” He grinned some more, at the shocked and delighted faces around him. “This is no fake girl I tell you. This is a Stark, no matter her name.”

Jon was aghast. Sansa, a girl who would look away from blood disgustedly, who hated the war stories of Old Nan that Bran had so loved, could send more than a dozen heads flying on ravens. He could not imagine what horror she must have seen in King’s Landing to have changed in such a manner. Yet the army kept swelling. Alysanne Mormont had been at Deepwood Motte when the flying head arrived there, and she had ridden out to gather the men that had run from Stannis’ army after it had been defeated. Her messenger told Jon that she promised not to come with less than a thousand men. But she made it clear that this was for Sansa and Rickon, and not for him. Jon didn’t mind either way.

A few days later two letters came from the Last Hearth. They had been sent there by Sansa. One was for Selyse, and one for Jon.

Selyse was not as happy as she should be with her letter. Selyse called her knights and Jon and Tormund to discuss the letters “She wants me to marry Shireen to a Targaryen.”, she said angrily, “Does she think Stannis will let his daughter marry a Targaryen pretender?”

“She does not know we mean to wake Stannis up.” Jon pointed out. “But maybe it is not such a bad thing, your grace.” Ser Dorden, a queen’s man said. “If the queen in the north and the king in the south united, much of war could be avoided.”

“Stannis is the only king.” Selyse said stubbornly, “Do you think this Aegon will give up his claim once he realizes Shireen’s father is alive? What does she care about this Aegon?” She complained.

“She doesn’t.” Ser Dorden said, “She cares about Rickon Stark. She has guessed, or knows that we mean to marry Shireen to her brother. But that will make Rickon Stark the king in the north, making him a target for any king in King’s Landing. Be it Tommen or Aegon. She wants to get the target off his back.”

Jon nodded. It made sense. “The Iron Bank will agree.” He said, “If that is what you fear.” When Lord Davos had landed at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, he had met with Tycho Nestoris, the Bravosi banker that had treated with Stannis. Ser Justin Massey had been with him. And together Massey and Lord Seaworth had convinced the banker that even if Stannis was dead, there was a chance that Shireen could prevail. So the Iron Bank had decided to honor its agreement with Stannis. But the one crucial condition for it was that Shireen marry Rickon, so that the two houses claiming kingship could be united. Selyse had been angry that her daughter’s hand had been given to someone without consulting her, but she had accepted. Another clause in the agreement said that if Lord Davos could not get the Riverlands and the Vale rise for Shireen and Rickon, he will proclaim Rickon King in the North and refrain from marching south of Moat Cailin until Rickon came of age. But if there is no king in the north… “The Iron Bank wanted to stop Rickon from marching south until he was sixteen. This Aegon is already seventeen. They shouldn’t have any problem with it as long as he repays them what they are due. Sansa doesn’t want Rickon to march at all, whether now or when he is sixteen, if she can prevent it. In exchange she is ready to call Robb’s kingship an error. I assure you, if the northmen think that Lord Eddard wanted Stannis to have the throne, they will flock to your banners before you even call them. This is not an offer you can just throw away.”

Ser Axell was reading from his niece’s letter, “Maybe. But we don’t have to worry about it right now. She says Lord Hardying is staying in Riverlands to gather support from them.” He looked at Selyse, “It is only her that is coming, and the Blackfish. In any case, Stannis will be awake by the time they get to Winterfell. They can take it up with him.”

Selyse snorted, “You are right. This is a matter for the king to consider. This Lady Lannister who is a Stark can haggle with Stannis once she reaches Winterfell. I should like to see that.” She laughed, “I should like that a lot.”

Stannis won’t haggle with Sansa, Jon thought. He will have someone much tougher to deal with. But he kept the thought to himself. They will find out when they have to. In his letter, Sansa had written about Lady Stoneheart. _Harry had sent his messengers in the swamps to meet father’s old friend Lord Howland Reed to get his help in taking Moat Cailin. But they learned that he had already taken it with the help of Lady Stoneheart, an outlaw from the Riverlands. His castellan met us at the Moat, and he told me who she really was._

What surprised Jon more, he could not say. The real identity of Stoneheart, or the fact that Sansa had warned him about her. When they had been children at Winterfell, Sansa had only been as affectionate towards Jon as his bastard birth would allow. But now she wrote _We are both old enough to acknowledge that my mother does not like you. I write this to warn you of her coming, to let you know beforehand. Please don’t let her think that you mean to usurp Rickon’s place at Winterfell. The outlaws tell me that she has changed. That her death has made her cruel and merciless. When I was in the Vale, we heard the tales about the Hangwomen. I am almost afraid to come meet my own mother. I do not know if she is the same person as before. The one I remember and love. Do not give her cause to hate you. They say she means to burn the Kingslayer to awaken Stannis. I do not understand what that means, but I do not want you to be on her bad side as well._

The march afterwards was many shades of improvement on the past. Everybody thought their victory was eminent. More and more soldiers came and joined Jon’s army, and they brought news with them. Reports of how people were deserting Roose Bolton at Winterfell. They heard that Ramsay Snow killed Hothor Umber for trying to take his soldiers back to Last Hearth. This robbed the Boltons of most of their supporters they still had. Soon, only the Dustins and Freys remained in Winterfell.

Also, now the soldiers were enthusiastic to reach Winterfell. To take it for their princess who was coming to them and bringing vengeance. They named her the savior of the north. The She-Wolf that even the lions could not kill. “She should be the queen of the north.” Artos Flint exclaimed one night after having too much ale to drink. He was ready to set aside his wife and marry Sansa for avenging the Young Wolf. He even got into a fistfight with Middle Liddle after the latter reminded that she was already married. This was the one of the few fight that Jon let happen, he even cheered them on with others as the two exchanged blows until Artos stuck Liddle into a beer barrel. In the nights, the soldiers told each other what they thought happened at the Twins. They told each other stories of how they had heard Joffrey die. “She opened his throat with a dagger. Right as his mother and the Lord o’ Lions were watching.” Some said, while others said that she put the poison on her lips and gave the king a last kiss. Some were even sure that she had been the one to kill Lord Tywin, and not the Imp. They speculated on what will happen at Winterfell. “She will flay the Boltons, see if she won’t.” One Glover man said to Jon once. His companion wanted to know if she had a wolf of her own, and bet that she will feed Roose Bolton to it. Rather than answer them, Jon steered his horse away. Not because he didn’t want to tell them what had befallen Lady, but because he could feel another wave of bitterness coming on.

Most of the time he hid it well. Nor was it there always. Most of the time, he thought about Rickon. And Sansa, how brave and strong she must be. But sometimes, and almost every night when he would lie on his mattress in his tent with Ghost sleeping by his feet, Jon’s thought would turn to the future. Lady Stark was alive. Jon guessed that he should be happy. This will mean that Sansa will not be alone. That Rickon will have someone to look after him. And maybe Bran and Arya will come back as well. Sansa claimed that Arya had been with the outlaws for a while, before going missing again. There was a chance that she was alive. But after the happiness wore off, all Jon felt was loneliness. And wretched at not being happy. For if Lady Catelyn was at Winterfell, it would mean Jon couldn’t be.

I was never going to stay, he told himself, again and again. I only wanted to save Rickon, and then I would have gone back to the wall. But now, for the first time, Jon Snow realized how very tired of it all he was. Of the wall. Of his brothers and his vows. There was no easy recourse there upon the wall. Never a stop to the problems. I told myself that I would be as great a lord commander as there could be. That I will defend the wall against the threat of the others. But every move on the wall was a circus. Every decision a increased the threat to his life, to his honor. The Others were almost nowhere in sight, and still the watch was falling apart. Was Robb ever so troubled, he wondered? Jon finally allowed himself to admit that he had been glad to leave the wall. And that he was afraid to go back. He no longer dreamed of the stone kings, nor did he see the memories of the wolfswood. Instead he had started seeing daggers. He would see Bowen Marsh, Wick Whittlestick. Ser Alliser and Janos Slynt. And in their hands, the daggers shone with coldness. _An oathbreaker_ , Ser Alliser would say, _and for what? Your family does not need you. And they do not want you_. He would laugh as they advanced towards Jon. And Jon Snow could not find the will to stop them.


	22. Sam II

****

The stepladder was slimy and wet, and Sam held on to Alleras as he descended. The comely youth took in a deep breath once they were on the ground. “Aah, grapes.” He turned to Sam, “My father threatened to disavow me for my love of the Arbor’s wine over the dornish red, d’you know.”

Sam was confused, “But you’re a bastard.”

“Exactly what I told him. My father was funny that way, but only towards me.”

His father was dead, Sam knew. “Where do we go now?” He asked, wanting to change the dangerous subject.

“The inn is this way.” Alleras said taking his arm and pulling him away from the quay. Behind them The Otter’s crew had started shouting at the merchants over the goods. Now that the Redwyn Fleet was back and this part of the seas was safe, Lord Leyton Hightower had asked for assistance from the Arbor for reconstructing his city, and the merchants were engaging in some last minute haggling.

The Arbor was a smaller town compared to Oldtown. It was not even a city. Though it was considerable bigger than what the Ironmen had left in Oldtown. Sam remembered the city as he had left it. Not a shop untouched, not a house unburnt. Only ruin remained where the Starry Sept had stood for centuries. The day after they had chased the Ironmen away, Lord Garlan Tyrell and Ser Baelor Hightower had started gathering the bodies of the slain. There were so many that the funeral had taken place after two days. The ironmen had not distinguished between man and women as they had killed. And if that had not been enough, they had reportedly taken captives as well. The captives for the Crow’s Eye to sell as slaves in the east.

At least I am out of that burning and dying city, Sam thought. For the time being at least. But being on the Arbor brought its share of bad memories, however. Memories of his last visit to the island, and of his many humiliations at Horas’ and Hobber’s hands. He tried to keep his mind busy by looking around and talking.

The Arbor was bustling with soldiers. Dornishmen, most of them. The merchants anchored at Gold Port in the south side of the island. Over to the east coast, the Steel Port could be seen, where the Redwyn fleet was anchored. That part of the island was also crowded, but with soldiers. Ryamsport was the biggest town on the island. “Three thousand years ago, there was a battle between the newcomers and the indigenous people of the islands.” Sam told Alleras as they walked past houses surrounded by gardens. “Gilbert of the Vines, the founder of the house of The Redwyns betrayed his colleagues and defected to the natives. The natives did not know the art of winemaking, and when together they exterminated the newcomers, the Redwyns made the natives into their people by teaching them in exchange of obedience and loyalty.” Alleras gazed at him with an amused expression. “Oh, I apologize.” Sam said, “I had forgotten you already have your bronze link.”

The fruits of the treachery had been enormous, Sam thought as he looked around. The Arbor not only supplied more than two thirds of wine that the seven kingdoms drank, it was famous as far as Yi Ti and Asshai. Apart from being extremely wealthy, the Redwyns were also one of the strongest houses in the Reach. It’s fleet was only rivaled by the Iron Fleet. It was also always the largest fleet in Westeros, so even though King’s Landing had had stronger ships in the past, in a battle, Redwyn would have had better chance. How will they hold up against the Ironmen though? That Sam did not know. The Crow’s Eye was one of the most terrifying power that Sam had ever known, right after The Others.

Even Lord Garlan had felt that the sack was more brutal than any he had ever heard of. And that was before the news of the raid at Brightwater Keep had arrived. Sam remembered the look on Garlan’s face when they told him what had happened to his new home. Utter disbelief and fear. Sam had gone to him that morning. After witnessing the horror the Ironmen had mated out to the city, he had finally made up his mind about Gilly. He could not let her stay here, so close to the sea. So close to danger. And even if Lord Randyll was away in King’s Landing, Horn Hill was a strong castle, and Lord Randyll’s guards were well disciplined. With the presence of the Ironmen, his father had probably already sent a raven to Ser Kermont about increasing the garrison. “You will be safe there.” Sam had told her. “Just tell them the babe is mine, and my mother will take you in.”

Parting with Gilly had not been easy, but it had to be done. So Sam took her to Ser Garlan. Garlan Tyrell had been one of the few people that had been gentle to Sam when he was young, and Sam thought he could trust him. Though surprised that Sam had fathered a bastard, Garlan took Gilly in as a washerwomen. He promised Sam that he would see her safely to Horn Hill, or to Lord Randyll. Whichever came across his paths first. He then invited Sam along, to survey the funeral. Sam had not wanted to go, to see people burning, but Garlan was doing him a favor, and wanted to hear about Sam’s adventures beyond the wall. So they left the grieving Lord Hightower and rode out of the castle together. In the city however, Garlan lost all interest in Sam’s story as they both gazed around them, upon the destruction of the city. As a squire and a young knight, Garlan had been fostered in Oldtown with his grandfather and uncles. “I once fell from that tree,” Ser Garlan pointed to a burned tree sadly, “trying to pluck an apple for some giggling girls.” He showed Sam the ruin of an inn, “That innkeeper’s sister made me a man. I wonder if she is alive.” He pointed of more of his favorite places as they rode through the streets, most of them destroyed. It was almost when they were to the city gates that Ser Humphrey rode up to them from the castle, and gave them news of Brightwater Keep.

Garlan left that very night, and Gilly went with him taking her babe, making Sam wonder what he had been thinking, putting Gilly in the midst of an army. What if they were attacked? It was the best way though. He could not stop his studies to escort her to Horn Hill. The faster he forged his links, he told himself, the faster he could go north to the wall to help Jon. And yet now here he was at The Arbor, being pulled along by Alleras to meet his sister.

The inn they entered was one of the bigger ones of Ryamsport “Come.” Alleras directed Sam to an empty table and sat down. “We will meet with her soon. Until then, let’s eat.”

And eat they did. Or atleast Sam did. First they ordered Perl Onion Broth and Garlic Snails. Then there was a side of lamb and freshly caught Lobsters and suckling pigs. Usually, no one would give Lamb to maesters or black brothers. But Alleras had Sam change out of his black clothes back in Oldtown itself, and had himself changed out of his Maester’s greys. Sam had protested loudly, but Alleras had been adamant. “No one must know I am here. Nor you. Do you want King’s Landing to question where the Night’s Watch’s allegiance lies?” Sam had had to relent, and soon after leaving the citadel, they had changed their robes for richer garments. They were Alleras’s, the garments. And he had paid for the passage aboard the Otter as well. It was also his money they were spending on the food, and in the last part, Sam was happy to oblige.

It was one of the better meals Sam had had in a long time. Ever since he came to the wall to be honest. And Sam ate his fill while the comely dornish youth watched with a smile and kept the dishes coming. At last when Sam fell back on his chair, his tummy fuller than it had been in a while, the two of them got up. Alleras glanced out of the window as he put the money on the table. They made their way to the door.

“Stop them.” A shout rang through the inn just as they neared the door. The innkeep ran to block their way. “Young masters, young masters, forgive me” He said to them, hopping from one foot to another, displaying Alleras’ money in his hands, “But ‘tis less than what you ate.”

Alleras didn’t even glance at the innkeep’s hand, “I say it is more than enough. Out of the way, fat man.” He shoved the man out of the way and made for the door. They were drawing looks.

The guards of the inn sprang to their feet as Alleras and Sam passed through the door. Sam glanced nervously at their hands palming the swords. The innkeep was on them again, “My lords, the lobsters were worth five per stag. And the Lamb and duck was a dragon each. And you didn’t even pay for the wine.”

“Wine?” Alleras said in his long dornish drawl, “In dorne we are told the Arbor has so much wine that their inns give it for free.”

The fat man stopped hopping. Whatever politeness there was on the his face disappeared when he realized who he was dealing with. “Dornish?” He spat near Sam’s feet. “D’you know what Lord Redwyn does to cheats.”

“How should I know?” Alleras said in a dangerous tone, “I am not a cheat.” A knife appeared in his hand, “Are you calling me one, fat man?”

The guards drew their own swords now. Out on the street, people were stopping in their tracks to see what was happening. Sam knew he should draw his sword. But he stayed frozen. Beside, his hands were so sweaty, the sword would probably fall out of his hands if he even drew it. Before he could do anything however, a shout rang out, an authoritative voice, “What’s the matter here?”

The entire party turned to see a dornishwomen with ten spearmen behind her making her way to them. The innkeep’s face went purple, but he had no choice but to bow. “M’lady, these bastards here are trying to cheat me of my money.” He pointed to Sam and Alleras.

It was poor choice of words, considering who he was talking to. By the spear on her breast coiled by a snake, the women could only have been Obara Sand. The dornish bastard of the Red Viper Sunspear had sent to help the Reach get rid of the Ironmen. Lady Sand ignored the wording though, and turned her attention to Alleras, “What is he saying? Is this true?”

When Alleras failed to defend himself, she had her men seize them. “There is not much scum in Dorne.” She said to the innkeep, “Unfortunate that you had to deal with what there is. Here, take this for your troubles, as a gift from Dorne.” She paid him the rest of his money out of her own purse, “Know that not all dornishmen are like these two.”

Sam didn’t protest as rough hands handled him. Rather he focused on keeping his whimpers to himself. The innkeep thanked Lady Sand profusely, her dornish heritage apparently not a problem anymore. Her men put cuffs on Sam’s and Alleras’ hands. The two of them were bound to two horses chained together and led to the castle. Sam kept his eye on the horse’s head, lest someone familiar spot him, cursing Alleras for putting him through this.

Around the castle walls, the market had been disabled to make room for the dornish encampment. Though by now, most of it was taken down. The dornish soldiers had already moved into the ships. They were five thousand strong. Here to crew Lord Redwyn’s fleet. Lord Garlan had refused to come to the Arbor, instead moving to Honeyholt with his army, from where he could ride to most of the places on the coast within two days. The Crow’s Eye, after raiding Brightwater Keep, had vanished in the reach along with his army, and Garlan did not want to leave him unopposed on the ground by sailing on the Redwyn’s fleet. So they had instead asked Dorne for help. Alleras had been surprised that Prince Doran of Dorne had agreed. But it had been a pleasant surprise, since it made their mission that much easier.

They took the prisoners to Lady Obara’s apartments in the castle, instead of the dungeons. The castle was in a hurry, and nobody spared them a glance. Yet Sam’s heart was in his throat. What if they recognize me? Son of Lord Randyll Tarly, imprisoned for trying to cheat an innkeep. Sam exhaled with relief once they were inside Lady Sand’s solar.

“So much elaborate secrecy sister.” Alleras said as the cuffs were beaten off their wrist. “Is Redwyn harboring Varys the Eunuch here?”

“There are… complications.” Obara Sand said. She came and hugged her sister. “And what right do you have to reproach me? You are the one who dresses in a man’s clothes.”

Sam rubbed his wrists as he watched the two sisters. Whatever doubts that he still had about the comely youth’s gender vanished. There shouldn’t have been any doubts in the first place. When Alleras had first came to Sam a week ago, telling him they had to go to the Arbor, he had told him his real identity. Sarella Sand, natural daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne. “I wanted to learn at the citadel, like my father did.” He told Sam, “But the grey sheep don’t take women in their holy sanctum. They are probably afraid of them. And I am a bastard as well. So I inverted my sex.” He had grinned at him, “And my name. Sarella became Alleras, and I became a man.” When Sam just stared at him dumbfounded, he grabbed his hand and before Sam could pull it away, placed it on her crotch. “See. There’s nothing there.” It took a while for Sam to realize that he was touching a woman’s privates, and he had yanked his hand back as if burned, reddening instantly and making Alleras who was Sarella giggle.

After that, Alleras insisted Sam treat him the same as he had before, and Sam had tried, though it was not always possible. Back at Horn Hill, when he was young, he had heard tales of the Sand Snakes. Of how they were all dangerous and were all women shouldn’t be. And now he was here, in a room with two of them.

Once the guards left the room and the doors were closed behind them, Obara Sand turned to Sam, “And who is this one?” She asked her sister.

“This is Sam the Slayer. A brother of the Night’s Watch. He has come all the way from the north to save the realm.”

Sam blushed, “Just Sam. It’s just Sam.” He stammered. Obara Sand frightened him. No wonder there.

She regarded Sam curiously, “Does not seem like a slayer to me.” She declared. She turned to Sarella, “Nor is he wearing black.”

“And I am not wearing grey. But the fact I am grateful for is that you are not wearing grapes, sweet sister. Tell me, why did our redoubtable uncle agree to help the Reach?”

“All in good time, sister, all in good time.” Obara Sand took a seat and indicated that they should do the same, “I promise you though, when you write a history book of your own, you are going to want to include this meeting of ours.”

“Am I? Why?”

“Oh, you’ll find out.” Sand said with a gleam in her eyes, “We don’t have much time however. You are returning tonight only, no? That is good. Now tell me why you wanted to see me, apart from how much you missed your elder sister.”

Sarella snorted. She glanced at Sam and her expressions became serious, “We need you to convince our uncle to declare for Aegon.”

That was clearly not what Obara Sand had expected. “What? Why? What do you know?” She raised her eyebrows suspiciously, “What does the Citadel know?”

“Nothing. The Citadel knows nothing. Right now, the grey sheep are searching through the annals and family trees to see from which off-shoot of the Blackfyre descendants they can prove the new Aegon to have come. We however,” She indicated to Sam “have a different source of knowledge. We know that this Aegon is meant to ride one of the dragons hatched by Queen Daenerys.”

Obara Sand seemed to be confused, “Daenerys? That tale from the east? I’ve heard it. A silver queen with three dragons.” She narrowed her eyes at them. “What source of knowledge?”

Sarella’s lips pressed into a thin line at the difficult question. “A glass candle.” Sam blurted. He knew Sarella won’t tell her sister. “She won’t believe me.” She had claimed, but Sam had to try. He needed to impress upon Dorne that Aegon’s only purpose was not to sit on the Iron Throne, but to defeat The Others. “We saw it in the glass candles.”

Obara’s confused look deepened, “What language is he speaking?” She asked her sister.

Sarella sighed. She proceeded to tell her sister about the glass candles, and how they had started burning once the dragons had been hatched. “You can see shadows of the morrows in the flame.” She told her sister. She told her about the vision Sam had seen. A man mounted atop the dragon, Lightbringer burning bright in his hands.

Obara Sand burst out laughing when her sister was done. Sarella had expected this tough, “Do not laugh it off, sister. Old powers are waking. Stannis was the first to answer them, but he is dead. A prince was promised, and it would seem he has arrived. Rhaegar thought he was the prince that was promised, all the maesters agree, but then they say that Rhaegar later grew to believe that the prophecy came true in his son. This Aegon is no pretender, but Elia’s son himself. You wouldn’t want our cousin die under a headsman’s axe, would you ” She put a hand in her robes and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth, “Show this to Caleotte at Sunspear and tell him all I’ve said, he will tell you what it means.”

Sam gasped, “You stole a candle.” Sarella shrugged as her sister took the cloth from her hand and unwrapped it. Inside was long, jagged crystal, black and purple and sharp. “I took it from Gormon’s chambers,” Sarella told Sam, “when we were inspecting his chambers for clues as to where Pate might be hiding. I intended to keep it with me in my room, but my uncle might need more substantial convincing. He may not even know about Daenerys. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to develop a conscience against theft.”

“He knows.” Obara Sand said before Sam could reply, “About Daenerys. He knows.” She wrapped the candle back in the white cloth. “I will sent this to him if you want, but there is no need. Dorne has already declared for Aegon.”

“It has?” Sarella asked, surprised.

“Aye. But we have better reasons than shadows seen in candlelight.” She nodded toward Sam, asking Sarella, “Can he be trusted?”

“Yes.” Sarella said instantly, “Tell us.”

Obara Sand went to place the candle in a sack, deep beneath her cloths. “Arianne is with Aegon. She wrote to me to come here and assist the ironmen.”

“The ironmen?” Sam asked confused. Arbor was the seat of Paxter Redwyn.

“That army out there.” Obara nodded towards the window, “It is only one fifth dornishmen. After Brightwater Keep, Euron came to us near Sunflower Hall. His presence here was the reason I insisted on that drama outside The Sleepy Inn. We had hoped Garlan Tyrell would be here when we arrived, but we will have to contend with sinking Redwyn’s fleet.” She smiled. When Sam and Sarella still gazed at her with confusion, sand elaborated, “Euron has given up his claim on kingship. He said he realized that he could not conquer Westeros, not even with a thousand ships. Not alone. He wrote to Lord Connington offering his alliance and a plan, in exchange for the Iron Islands and The North, and the seat of Lord Admiral of the Iron Throne on the small council. The Hand liked the plan he put forward, as did Arianne, and so the alliances were formed.”

Sam and Sarella looked at each other. “Sister. Listen to me.” Sarella said with urgency, “Whatever plan the Crow’s Eye has proposed, abandon it. It only ends in treachery.”

Obara frowned at her sister, “And how would you know that? And no glass candles this time.”

“No glass candles. Just your old whips and racks. The citadel captured some ironmen in the raid. I volunteered as the questioner. There were not many maesters that had the heart for it. The Crow’s Eye has promised his people entire westeros.”

“I told you, he realized…”

“And then he sent his brother with the Iron Fleet to bring back Daenerys and her dragons.”

A silence followed that, until Obara said, “Arianne wrote that Aegon was waiting for his aunt so he could marry her.”

“The Crow’s Eye fears that very thing then.” Sarella said with certainty, “He wants Daenerys for himself. That’s why he offered fealty so quickly. To get rid of competition before it became too big. And you are walking straight into his trap. Are you fucking him?”

The question took Sam by surprise, but not Obara Sand. She stood up and went to the window, “He said he has never had a women who fought. We went at each other with our bodies as many times as we went at each other with swords and knives.”

“Then I suggest you go at him with a knife again, while he is asleep beside you. I would also advise on keeping Redwyn’s fleet afloat. He could end the Ironmen’s threat once and for all.”

“I cannot stop this.” Obara turned back to them. “He has four men for every man of mine, and most of them are already on the ships. Nor will I see him until after the attack is over. The time is tonight, and he has gone to arrange our escape in case the castle doesn’t fall.” She shook her head, “But maybe once we reach Starfall…”

They took their leave of Obara Sand shortly after that. “I will send Emrick and Green with you. Make the captain leave early. I do not want you caught up in the mess here.” She kissed Sarella on both cheeks. “Be safe sister.” Sarella said to her. Obara turned to Sam, “I will tell the king all you have said.” Sam had told her about the threat at the wall, and begged her to pass the message to Aegon. He wasn’t sure if she believed anything he told her, but she promised him that the Night’s Watch will have an ear in King’s Landing once Aegon took his seat.

Sam was glad to take her leave. The mannish and hard Obara Sand made him uneasy. All his life, he had been comfortable with girls more than boys. Girls did not hit him, bully him. He could put up with their teasing, and that would be enough. At the Citadel, apart from some, most had been like him, uncomfortable around swords and bullies. They had not bullied him much, or made fun of his fatness, had even admired him for his knowledge. Roone, Alleras and Pate could even be called his first friends ever apart from Grenn and Pyp and Jon at the wall. Obara Sand had seemed to come right out from the past though, and stranger, being a women. Sam was glad that the visit was short. Alleras had told him that all of her sisters disapproved about her learning at the citadel, and Sam had been afraid that Obara Sand would make her sister stay with her in the army, and him along with her.

The Otter sailed that very evening. The captain was not happy to leave early, but Emrick and Green convinced that Redwyn’s guards had gotten wind of the caches of grapes he was smuggling out of The Arbor. The rowers got them away from the port in the darkness, and the sails unfurled. The ship sailed away from The Arbor without any disturbance.

But their good fortune turned with the dawn.

It seemed to Sam as if he had just closed his eyes for a moment before he woke from someone banging on the door. Emrik opened the door, “It’s one of Redwyn’s ships.” The mate told him, “If you have a sword. Leave it here. Come above the deck, all of you.” He disappeared beyond the door.

They followed him, but only after taking his swords. _It might be a ship seized by the Ironmen._ Sam hoped not _._ But the seas here were not as safe as the captain of the Otter believed. They passed some men carrying barrels, no doubt full of grapes, to be thrown in the sea. You can always get more barrels to smuggle, but not if you are in a jail cell.

The longship was already upon them when Sam and his companions reached above decks. In the light of the dawn, it looked like a leviathan sailing on the sea. Soon a plank was extended between the ships and they were boarded. The captain, Gavin, went to greet the captain of the other ship, “My lord, all is…” was all he got out before the other captain’s sword flashed and Gavin’s head was rolling on the deck, spewing blood.

“Shit. It’s ironmen.” Emrick went for his sword. Sam mirrored him. “Stay with us.” Green told him and Alleras, who had a knife in his hand. People had started running all around them. More and more ironmen were pouring on to the ship. The Redwyn captain had apparently been a hostage on his own ship. “Don’t attack first.” Alleras warned them. “If they are taking prisoners, then stay your sword and surrender.”

“They are selling their prisoners as slaves.” Emirck hissed as he led them around the captain’s cabin to hide. “Then we’ll be slaves.” Alleras insisted, “My uncle will ransom us. Have no fear.” He took Sam’s hand and squeezed it.

They _were_ taking prisoners! In half an hour, ten people were dead and others rounded up in a line in front of the rudder. Sam was crouched beside Alleras, trying not to cry. A light rain had started falling. I am Sam the Slayer, he told himself. _And a Tarly_ , a voice inside his head whispered. Doran Martell was a dornishman, why would he ransom a Tarly from the reach. He was not sure his own father would ransom him either. Lord Randyll Tarly had always only wanted to be rid of his eldest son. He glanced up briefly. The real captain of the other ship had come aboard he saw. “Seven hells.” Sam heard Green whisper, “That’s Crow’s Eye, what’s he doing here?”

Sam stared at the man. What _was_ he doing here? He was supposed to be at the Arbor, helping Obara Sand escape. What had gone wrong? He knew he should look down, but he could not take his eyes off the ironborn warrior. He was tall and lean. A shield was strapped to his back with an axe head poking out from beneath. A longsword hung from his hip. He was wearing an eye patch, just like Sam had heard about the man. But the thing that had transfixed was the man’s armor. It was a black darker than any Sam had ever seen. It must have been very light, for the lithe man seemed not to feel the weight at all as he walked. But even from a distance, Sam knew it was very strong. The armor seemed to smoke in the sparse rain that fell on it. Valyrian steel. Sam thought. Seven save us. He has armor made of valyrian steel.

Alleras was staring too, but at another man. From the bridge that connected the ships, came a youth a little older than Sam. Even with the sun behind him, Sam recognized Pate.

“Search the ship.” The Crow’s Eye barked at his men, and came to the line of prisoners, examining them one by one. Pate joined him. When he had disappeared, Alleras, Sam, Roone and Mollander all had sat together to think. And they had been right. Pate had been the thrust. Though Leo Tyrell thought that Pate had just ran, or died. Sam had not wanted to believe it, but Pate was working for Euron Greyjoy, and had given him the book, The Death of Dragons. Sam returned his gaze to the floor, though he knew recognition was inevitable. He hoped the tales of the Ironmen torturing their prisoners were only that, tales.

“I know why the red god led us here, m’lord.” Came Pate’s voice. He came and stood before Sam and Alleras. Rough hands seized them, and lifted them to their feet. Alleras was cursing Pate, but a fist silenced him. Emrik and Green had already surrendered their swords, and could only look on helplessly.

The Crow’s Eye came up to them. “Who are they?” He sounded angry, as if his patience was running out.

“Sam here,” Pate said, “is a brother of the night’s watch. Alleras,” he indicated to Alleras, “Is a dornishwomen pretending to be a man. I do not know who she really is” His face was expressionless as he said the words. As if he did not care what consequences they brought to his two erstwhile friends. “Both of them are novices at the citadel, with two and five forged links respectively.”

“I see.” Greyjoy, was clearly upset. He rounded on his men, “Bring the priest.” A man in red was brought to him. “For this I left the Arbor?” The Crow’s Eye snarled at him, “While my men were routed from the island. I could have apprehended maesters any time… I,” He stopped, looking at Emrik. He looked down the line, and spotted Green, who averted his face. But the damage was done.

The Crow’s Eye fingered the line of his eye patch. “A dornishwomen travelling with Obara’s guards, and pretending to be a man so she could study at the citadel.” He mused as he came up to Alleras. He took her chin in his hand and forced his face towards him, “Who would have the balls, but a Sand Snake? Aye you even look like her.” He turned to the priest, “Prey my apologies to the red god, priest. It would seem we may be able continue with our plan.” He turned to Sam, “As for the other one…”

“He knows things.” Pate cut in, Sam looked at him pleading, but the pasty faced boy continued, “He has seen a man atop a dragon, in the candle flame. No doubt they think it was Aegon. The citadel by now probably knows you promised the Ironmen dragons. They were here…”

“To turn Obara against me, aye.” He turned to one of his men, “Volmark. I give you this ship.” A thin, haggard man came forward, “Take the fat brother to Pree and others on the Shields.” He took Sarella’s hand and turned to his crew, “Let’s go to The Silence. We are going to see who the dornish value more. Their king, or their kin.”


	23. Dany I

****

The khalasar spread for miles. Twenty three thousand riders. It reminded Dany of the khalasar her sun and stars had led. Or the one her son might have led. Although, those khalasars would not have had a dragon tailing them from above. Ever since Khal Jhaqo had found her, such thoughts had been coming to her mind. Would she have been content to be Khal Drogo’s Khaleesi? If she could do it all over again, will she prevent Ser Jorah from going inside the tent? Will she murder her Sun and Stars all over again by forcing Mirri Maz Durr on him, or will she let him live and lose her three children, and the thousand more she had gained later?

She might have to forgo them anyways, she thought as she looked back, as if she could see Meereen from her. When she had met Khal Jhaqo, she had tried to talk to him as an equal, as a khal. But he saw her only as a khaleesi who was out of her rightful place in Dosh Khaleen. He tried to take her by force, only to have three burned horses and two dead men. Drogon had saved her. And from then on, he was never far, as if he knew Daenerys needed him.

Dany could not control him to fly or kill at command, however. Jhaqo could have killed her anytime, but he feared the dragon. But he seemed to suspect that Dany could not control Drogon, and so had forced her to become a guest cum prisoner of her khalasaar. Fearing for Drogon’s life if swords came out in earnest, and thinking that he might leave her, she had complied.

She was seeing the dothraki sea after so much time. The grass was turning brown. Winter was approaching, and fast. Back home, her people would be worried about food, although they could probably get a last harvest or two. Maybe it would be better to stay in Dosh Khaleen, there, she could at least not fail any more people.

She looked around her. She was riding in the middle of the khalasaar, with a few handmaidens Jhaqo had given her. Jhaqo’s bloodrider Temo was riding beside her, to keep an eye on her. The boy wanted her, she could see. Only Jhaqo’s wrath kept him at bay. Truly, it kept them all at bay, as much as their fear of Drogon. Half the men of the khalasaar wanted her dead, or gone at least. And her dragon with her. The other half wanted to rape her. But Jhaqo wanted her subdued, to deliver her to her rightful place in Dosh Khaleen. So he kept her safe. Even from his boodrider Mago, who wanted both to rape her and kill her. “I will ride your dragon too, if I can find a hole.” He had whispered to her once, when Jhaqo wasn’t looking.

When Khal Drogo had been alive, Dany had freed a women named Eroeh from Mago’s clutches. When Her Sun and Stars had died however, and Dany herself had been unconcious, Mago had raped the women with the newly made Khal Jhaqo and his bloodriders. Dany had sworn that Mago and those who had raped Eroeh would die begging for every mercy they had not shown Eroeh. One day Mago, she thought every time she saw him, one day. The dragon does not forget.

They travelled north through the plains of a dying grass. Even dying though, the grass had its beauty. The sun and the clouds played over them, giving them shades. In a valley, purple autumn flowers bloomed to greet them. When there were forests, they were dense enough that no sky could be seen above. Halfway through their journey they came across a stream dividing the land between blue grass and orange. The wind made the tall grass sway in ripples, like a maiden’s hair. Only Dany never saw any of it. She was in the middle of the khalasar, and by the time she came to any place, the beauty would already be trampled under the hooves of those in the front.

In the start of the journey, she was given a wagon. There was a great deal of wagons in this khalasar, more than there normally would be. In a khalasar, only the weak and the old travelled in wagons. God made horses for able men. Khal Rhaggat, they had mocked her brother when he had been forced to ride in a wagon, back in Drogo’s Khalasar. But Jhaqo’s khalasar had just fought and defeated Khal Gaqqo’s khalasar. The fight had been bloody, and more than half of the khalasaar was now grievously wounded. Normally the Khalasar would camp under the stars until it was ready to ride again, but Dany’s presence prompted Jhaqo to ride early. He knew who she was. He must have heard the stories. He knew of the unsullied. He knew how many followers she had. “We heard the dragon ate you.” He had said to her, which meant he also knew of her disappearance from Meereen. So he knew that people would be looking for her. Not wanting to be caught while his men were weak, he had broken camp and started making for Vaes Dothrak.

Back then, Dany had been sick. Fever came and went, but the shits were gone very quickly. Even so, she had to endure Mago’s and Jhaqo’s taunts about Viserys and how the gods dealt with Khal Rhaggats. But then her strength returned, even if partly. And when Dany thought that she could endure it, she went to Jhaqo in a morning and demanded a horse. Jhaqo obliged grudgingly, while Mago spat and left to rape some slave. It had been a victory, but not one Dany would contend with. Every time she looked at Mago, she remembered Eroeh.

The wagons had bored her out of her mind. But riding on a horse was almost equally lonely. The people kept their distance from the silver haired queen that burned cities. Drogon didn’t help either, when he would swoop down beside her and walk alongside her. Does he remember their ride through the red waste, or the marches from Astapor to Yunkai and Meereen? Not that she minded his walking beside her. Drogon’s presence was the only thing that was keeping her alive.

The loneliness gave her mind free reins though, and almost all through the days and many a nights her mind worried at things. Sometimes she thought of Meereen, and what might be happening there. The Yunkai must be gone, but what about the Volantene fleet that had been launched against them? Did anyone suspect that Hizdahr had tried to poison her? How were her people? Was the pale mare still riding through the city? When she thought how many people had followed her only to starve and die, Dany herself wanted to die.

Sometimes she thought of her brother, and how he had died. She had done nothing to stop it. It’s hard to die unmourned sister, his ghost said to her. She might get killed in a khalasar as well, if Mago got his way. Dany wondered who would mourn her. Ser Barristan, for one. She doubted her own husband will. Will Daario mourn for her? Or will he just curse and take another women to bed. She knew that Ser Jorah will mourn her, hopefully in Bear Island, if he ever heard about her death. Will he be the only one? Will someone else in Westeros, a place that had not been far from her mind ever since she was old enough to understand, will say that her death was a loss. Will my people care if I live or die? They will probably rejoice that I died before I could bring war over to their continent. The thought made her sad.

Most of the time however, Dany forced herself to think about how she was going to get out of this situation. She could not spend her life confined in Dosh Khaleen. But she could not see a way out either. If she tried to flee, Jhaqo will try to stop her. If this angers Drogon, he might attack the Khalasar, and die. The riders were wary of the dragon, but they were nothing if not brave. She could not let Drogon die. Yet if she just rode along, how will she ever go back to Meereen? Calling herself a khal was also fruitless. Jhaqo had only laughed when she had first tried that, and a good thing, that. For when two khals met outside Vaes Dothrak, most of the times they would attack each other. Dany was in no position to get attacked by a khalasar.

She had hoped she could speak to the captured slaves from Khal Gaqqo’s khalasar, get them to help her. But Jhaqo had kept her well apart from them. Nor could she just steal off in the night to them, for at least one of Jhaqo’s bloodriders was always with her. When Drogon came, they were wont to ride on her other side, but ride with her they did. They always had spears and crossbows with them also. Riders abhorred archers, but Jhaqo had sense enough to understand that swords would not help against a dragon. Pity that!

That night she got her chance. As Temo and her handmadiens Karla and Tammi helped her erect her tent, she heard talking outside. Looking over, she saw a girl, a little younger than herself, asking Karla’s help. Karla was having none of it, however, and tried shoo the girl away. “Please, I am lost. Where is my father?” The girl was saying.

By now, Temo had also noticed it, “Get lost, girl.” He barked at her. The girl started, and started backing away. But Dany called after her, “She is lost, can’t you see.” She said to Temo, “She just wants her father.”

Temo stared at her insolently, “There are a thousand slaves across the camp. Do you mean to find her father on your dragon?”

“She can help.” Dany said. She turned to the girl, “Where is he? Did you ride in the back, or in the front? Was the khalasar to your right or left?”

“We rode in the m-middle, in the back.” The girl said, her eyes wet. “My father was one of them that dug the latrine today. There was some rider after me. After he was d-done, I could not find my way back.” She sobbed, but held it back quickly.

“Oh. The latrines are that way.” She pointed to the south. It made her sick how little the rape affected the girl. She was only afraid of getting lost, “But come inside first, have some water. You are trembling.” She led the grateful girl inside the tent.

She watched as the girl drank the water. “Thank you, your grace.” She said and sketched a clumsy, awkward bow after she was done.

“You know who I am?” Daenerys asked her.

The girl nodded, looking down, “My father told me about you. He said you ride dragons.”

They were alone in the tent. Dany could hear Temo shouting to Tammi and Karla outside. “Who is your father? Are you dotraki?” she asked the girl.

“No. I was born near Tolos. When I was ten, our village was raided by Khal Gaqqo. My father was a guard in the tower. I have been in Gaqqo’s khalasar for four years now. My name is Edda.” She added.

“Edda, tell me. How many times you have been raped?” Not letting the girl answer, Dany strode forward and gripped her hand, “Jhaqo has no need of more slaves. He will sell you to some whorehouse in Lys and your father as a sword somewhere. Do you want to stay with your father Edda?”

Tears formed anew in the girl’s eyes as she looked at Dany. She nodded.

“Then hear me, I have a dragon. But I still need your help, as you need mine. You say your father told you about me. Then you know that I free slaves. All I need you to do is tell your father to gather the slaves to rebel against Khal Jhaqo.” The girl’s eyes went huge with fear. “Do not worry, no harm will come to your father. As soon as there is a commotion, I will command Drogon to unleash his fires on the khalasar.” Did drogon still remember the word dracarys? “If the entire khalasar is focused is on me, my dragon will die. But if the Khalasar is attacked on two fronts, we will defeat them.” The girl clearly did not believe her, so Dany pressed on, “The Khalasar is nothing without their horses, and horses fear dragons. Once the mounts run, the khalasar will flee as well. You can have a new home in Meereen.”

Edda swallowed and nodded, still afraid. “Here, drink some more water.” After she was done, Dany escorted her outside. “Remember, tell your father.” She whispered to Edda, “If we go into Vaes Dothrak, I cannot help you.”

The next morning, Dany was thankful that Drogon chose to ride beside her instead of flying. Maybe the gods were watching. But she was still racked with nerves. What if Drogon doesn’t obey me? Will Edda’s father comply with her wishes? Will he be able to cause an uprising? How long will it take for him to convince the slaves to attack the khalasar? Dany looked around as she mounted for the day, but could only see the khalasar going through the routine of breaking camp.

Mago’s voice drew her attention. He was talking to his fellow bloodrider Temo. They both looked at her. “The khal wants to see you.” Temo told her.

Dany looked at Mago. Jhaqo’s bloodrider riding with her changed after a few days, but it had never been Mago. Jhaqo had kept him away from her ever since she had asked him for a mount. “Why.” She asked Mago. Had they captured Edda?

Mago leered at her. “A slave came to us.” Beneath his beard, his mouth was twisted in delight, “Said you were trying to get him to lead a rebellion against the Khal.”

The blood ran from Dany’s face, “What did you do to Edda?”

“Who?” Mago asked, “Oh! The daughter.” He glanced accusingly at Temo, “She went off with her father, I suppose. Khal Jhaqo gave him a horse for himself, and a donkey for his daughter, and told them that they are to thank you for it. I am sure they both will remember you fondly for setting them free.” He was laughing at her. He led her horse near hers, and sized her, “Come now, cunt! I will to fuck you in front of the Khal and then give you to my horse.”

Dany wrenched her arm from his, “Do not presume to touch me.”

“Oh I will be doing more…” He stopped, for they could hear Drogon growling.

The dragon’s stare was fixed on the bloodrider. His horse bucked, but Mago held it fast, giving no indication of fear. “I suppose I will have to carve out that hole myself.” He said as he drew his crossbow. “Temo,” He barked, “Go behind the beast.”

But before Temo was halfway around Drogon, Dany threw herself on Mago. His crossbow whanged, but missed by a wide margin. Drogon screamed, making the horses bolt. Dany and Mago fell to the ground. Even as the wind was knocked out of her, Dany could feel Mago reaching for his dagger. She sucked a breath in, and screamed, “Drogon. Dracarys.” Hoping aginst hope that the dragon remembered.

The fire wooshed over them as she rolled away.

She got to her feet just in time to see Temo burst in a shower of blood and flesh when Drogon’s tail took him in the chest. An arrow sailed between her and her dragon, making Drogon fire at the archer. All around them was chaos, with riders fleeing away from them and towards them. Drogon was crouching, his wings beating. He wants me to mount him, she realized. But there was no point in returning to the wilderness, for Drogon won’t carry her to Meereen. We will either die, or we will live, but we will not run. The dragon does not run.

She turned to Mago. The bloodrider was flapping on the ground, screaming. Dany went to him and beat the fire on his arm. The fire had not touched her, all she had felt had been intense heat, but there was no harm, no blisters. The same could not be said for Mago. He was burned all the way below his chest. She could see his blackened flesh where his clothes had burned away, and the whitish bone where the flesh had sloughed away. Fire and Blood, the words flashed in her mind.

His spear was beside him. Dany picked it up. Mago was beneath her, moaning, cursing her. At least he is not crying. “I have never raped anyone,” She told him, “But seeing as you like it so much, I want to try as well.” She knelt beside him, “But I suppose first we will have to carve out a hole.” The cooked flesh parted easily as she inserted the spear between his legs. Blood and shit and piss flew in the air as she started pumping to Mago’s screams.


	24. Cersei II

****

The riders arrived on a cold grey morning.

Cersei had to wait to hear about it in the evening however. All day she witnessed the tension in the hallways and the courtyards. The novices she had around herself knew nothing, and the guards wouldn’t tell her anything. She didn’t even get to see Qyburn all day. Finally, Lancel told her about it when she went to visit the sept. Lancel was there with her children, as was the Lady Tyene, half-sister of Nymeria Sand. Qyburn had told Cersei about this bastard who seemed like the paragon of virtue. In Dorne, she had as black a repute as any of her sisters, but the High Sparrow was blind to it. Qyburn claimed that she had wormed her way into the High Sparrow’s ear. All he probably needed to see was her milky white skin and doe shaped eyes, that hypocrite. Even Lancel seemed vulnerable to her charms, inviting her to attend the sept in the castle with the king.

“It was a trap.” He told her on their way back, “We think that at Haystack Hall, Red Ronnet turned upon the lords he could not trust. He staged the battle and told us that Aegon was dead.”

“He must have known Lord Tyrell will come to claim the fruits of victory.” Lady Tyene put in smugly. “Storm’s End.”

It irked Cersei that this bastard knew more of what was happening outside the Red Keep than herself, but there was nothing she could do about it. So she just nodded, “It seems like a wild guess. Not something I would stake my life upon.”

“I know.” Lancel said, a hint of frustration in his voice, “I have the feeling we are not seeing something. But this is all we could come up with.”

“Margaery is worried.” Tommen said in a timid, sad voice, as if he was worried about interrupting the adults. “She is worried about her father. They said he had a quarrel through his hip.”

Cersei’s head whipped to look at Lancel. Why did her son know this? He was too young to hear about things like this? This was why she never wanted him to attend the councils. She almost said something to Lancel, but caught herself. It will not do good to scold him in front of the dornishwomen.

“Lord Tyrell is a warrior, your grace.” Lancel was saying, “A dead pretender could not kill him.”

Tommen looked at Lancel with big eyes, “You will free him, won’t you uncle?”

Lancel gave a nervous laugh, “You were at the council Tommen. You know we don’t have enough soldiers here. Don’t you remember what was agreed upon?”

“I do.” The king looked embarrassed, “Sorry uncle.”

“The dornishmen can help.” Myrcella said suddenly, “Lord Yronwood was encamped in the Boneway when we crossed it. We may not have soldiers, but they do. They are closer to Storm’s End than we are as well.”

“You have a sharp mind, Princess.” Lancel smiled at her, making her blush. “It is not that simple however.” He glanced sideways at Lady Tyene, “There are complications.”

“What complications?” Cersei asked. The only complication could be that Doran Martell was a traitor and had climbed in bed with his supposed nephew.

Tyene answered for Lancel. “I think I know the problem. My sister told you that she fears a rebellion, didn’t she?” She asked Lancel. “She has the truth of it, my lord. Dornishmen are a loyal people. But right now they are angry at King’s Landing. Have been for seven and ten years. And my uncle’s hold on our lands is not as strong as it once was, nor is his own body. He could order the dornishmen to fight the Ironmen, even if it meant helping the Reach. But to ask them to fight a boy they think is Elia’s own son… they will drag him out of Sunspear and drown him in the water gardens.” She indicated towards Myrcella’s ear, “You know what happened to our own princess.”

Cersei flushed. Myrcella had gone to Dorne a beautiful princess, more than they ever deserved. But she had come back less an ear. Every time Cersei looked at the hole on the side of her face, she could feel bile rising in her throat and anger twisting her stomach. Many a times she had asked her daughter about the incident. About the time when she had lost her ear. But Myrcella was reluctant to speak about it. Cersei had to threaten her with punishment if she didn’t tell her about it. She knew it was a painful experience for Myrcella, and it pained her to see her daughter hurting, but she had to know. Was Tyrion in Dorne? Was he working with the Martells? And the Tyrells as well? Had Mace Tyrell killed Ser Kevan with a quarrel just to throw the Lannister off the scent of Tyrion? That turnkey Rugen had a coin from the reach…

But Myrcella insisted that Darkstar had not meant to cut her ear off, as revenge for Tyrion’s nose. He was going for her neck. But her horse had shied away in fright, and Myrcella had been saved. “It was after sometime after we found Prince Oberyn was dead.” She had told her mother, “Ser Arys thought the streets were calm, so we had gone riding. Darkstar met us on our way back. He had some argument with the dornish guards, and then they all drew their swords.” Myrcella had sworn a hundred times that she had not seen her uncle Tyrion, and that it had been a chance meeting. Myrcella hadn’t heard even a whisper about Tyrion in Dorne, let alone seen him.

Lady Tyene took her leave of them at the portcullis to the outer yard. The last of the lights of the evening was fast disappearing, but the women had an escort of the swords of the faith. After the dornishwomen left, Cersei sent her children ahead with Ser Meryn and motioned Lancel to walk with her. “You must be careful with that women, Lancel.” She said to her cousin, “She knows far too much about the crown’s plans. Do not forget she whispers in the High Sparrow’s ears.”

“His High Holiness is not our enemy Cersei.” Lancel said defensively, “This rift between you and him is unfortunate. I had hoped living in the company of a septa would make you more sympathetic to them.”

Those bitches don’t even let me piss in peace. Cersei thought angrily. She was sick unto death of her human prison made of those novices and septas. “She sleeps with the knights of the faith.” Cersei reminded her cousin, trying herself to forget about the septas, “You know not all of them are loyal to Tommen.”

“That is why she needs to know our plans, your grace.” Lancel said. He dropped his voice so the guards about them won’t hear, “So she knows what to look out for. She is our spy in the Great Sept of Baelor.”

Cersei frowned at him, “And if she is playing us false? I put no trust in these Dornishmen.”

“Me neither. At least where Aegon is concerned. But we need her. We have so few men in the Stars and Swords. And so far she has proved useful. Tonight she was here to tell us about the whispers that filled the ranks of the faith militant upon the return of Ser Horas. Many are talking about going south to join with the rightful king of Westeros. She was also the first one who told us about what is really happening in the riverlands.”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed, “What is happening in the riverlands? Is it Jaime?”

Lancel looked away, “I wish… Or rather, I don’t, maybe… I don’t know.” He took a breath, “The Twins have fallen. The Freys are all dead. At first we thought it were the outlaws. They had been killing any Freys they could get their hands on. But the tale coming in from the riverlands spoke of the Knights of the Vale. There are many a riverlanders it the faith militant, come to find solace with the gods when their villages were destroyed and their king was murdered. Tyene had the news from them, and she gave it to us. Only yesterday we received confirmation. Edwyn Frey wrote from Maidenpool that Lord Harrold Hardying is marching towards Moat Cailin.”

It was frustrating, receiving news so late. And especially when it did not make any sense to her. Hardying? Moat Caillin? Why would Harrold Hardying invade the Riverlands? Robert Arryn might have had, to try to claim his grandfather’s seat for his own, if his arms had ever grown to be thicker than his bones that is. “Why?” She asked Lancel. “Why would the lord of the Vale try to go north?”

“The most I can think of is that he meant to declare for Stannis. Stannis was still alive when he marched from the Eyrie. It might be possible that Lysa Arryn poisoned his mind against the Lannisters before she died.”

“But Stannis is dead.” Cersei said. Lancel sighed, “Aye, he is. But if I were Hardying, I will continue north and save his daughter and marry her.” He shook his head, “The northmen might support him. We have had news that Lord Davos is alive. Stannis’ smuggler hand. Manderly didn’t kill him, but sent him to retrieve a son of Eddard Stark, who seems to be alive as well. The boy is six, but they have taken the Dreadfort. And Selyse is marching towards Winterfell.”

“The dead are supposed to stay dead.” Cersei protested. “You must stop this Lord Hardying from going north Lancel. Otherwise, the North is gone from our hands.”

“Aye.” Lancel said, “I know. I have written to Daven to raise a host and go after Lord Harrold. And I have written to Lord Bolton and commanded him to fortify Moat Cailin. That pass is one of the hardest pass in Westeros. Daven will reach them before they cross, you have my word.”

“Why can’t Lord Emmon raise this host?” Cersei asked, “My father gave him Riverrun.”

“But not the riverlands, as many have pointed out.” Lancel gave her a rueful smile, “Can you imagine our Uncle Emm leading an army? His lady wife would be more suited to the task. But as it happens, the riverlords won’t rise for any of them. Lord Emmon has already tried to raise a host. But most of his ravens didn’t come back. And those that did pointed out that Petyr Baelish is the Lord Paramount of the Trident, and not Emmon Frey. Lord Bracken even went so far to say that he didn’t take orders from a Frey.”

Joffrey had been right. Father should never have pardoned them, those traitors. Instead, Lord Tywin had collected hostages where he should have been collecting heads. And now they were hand in glove with this Hardying boy. And they had captured Jaime, Cersei had no doubt. “Have they forgotten we have their sons and daughters as hostages?”

“No, they haven’t. And that is the only reason they haven’t joined with Hardying yet. Neither is Hardying asking them for help.” He made a fist, “Gods, why did he have to appear now. I could use Daven in the Reach right now.”

“In the reach?” Cersei laughed, “The sun will rise from the west before Ser Loras lets any Lannisters into the reach.”

“Then we should be preparing to witness it any day now.” Her cousin said, “Because the Queen is truly worried. The news about her father has hit her hard. Fifty men had gone south, and only ten have returned. Ser Hobber is dead. She knows she needs our help.” They had reached Cersei’s bedchambers in Maegor’s. “As a matter of fact,” Lancel said, opening the doors for her, “she was trying to force me to send Daven into the Reach right away. Her brother Garlan wants to go to the Arbor, to fill Redwyn’s ships and attack the Iron Islands. But Euron Greyjoy has split his forces and no one knows where he is. And if Garlan is on the sea, no one is there on the ground to stop the ironmen from raiding the reach.”

“Tarly will fight the Ironmen.” Cersei said accepting a wine glass from a novice whose name she had forgotten. Lancel waved his away, “Lord Tarly is to go to Storm’s End, try to end the pretender once and for all. We have already sent the messenger. But I managed to convince Loras Tyrell that Lord Hardying was not to be ignored. Stannis may be dead, but his widow has rallied his supporters and is marching towards Winterfell. Should Hardying get past Moat Cailin, together they might be able to depose of the Boltons. We have already almost lost the Riverlands, we cannot also lose the North. Daven has to go to Moat Cailin. The dornishwomen on the Arbor can fight the Ironmen on the sea. And Lord Garlan can see to those on the ground, at least we hope he can. He hasn’t been successful so far.” He sighed a deep sigh, “We have suffered too many losses recently Cersei. Too many deaths and too many wounds. I told Queen Margery that we needed to treat each wound before it festers, and it is true. But I am starting to feel like a kraken with ten arms, each being stretched in different direction.” He stifled a yawn and stood up. “Pardon me, your grace. But this talk is making me weary. And I have yet to have supper.”

“Of course.” Cersei stood up. “They have roasted a pig in the kitchens, my novices tell me.” What was going on in the kitchens, this the novices always seemed to know. She went to Lancel as he was leaving and took his arm. “Wait Lancel.” She spun him around to face her, “I want you to know how grateful I am to you.” She talked over his protests, “You are keeping my children safe. And me. I do not know what would happen if we had only the Tyrells ruling us. Your father would be very proud of you, I know.” She put her hand on his chest, “And he would tell you that you are not a karken, but a lion. And that anyone who tries to pull on your tail had best beware of your sharp claws.”

Lancel smiled at her proudly. He raised her hand and kissed it, “I am only doing my duty, your grace. I swear, I will not fail you.” Cersei was surprised to find that she really was assured by his words.

But the following days were not so uplifting. The tensions in the city rose as news of Mace Tyrell’s capture spread. The people started panicking at prospect of another war. The cold was rising with the weakening sun, and so were the prices of food as more and more people fled the Reach and the Stormlands for the supposed safety of King’s Landing. It was happening all over again, Cersei thought. But now there was the added factor of the sparrows in the city. Only a day after Ser Horas’ return, Cersei witnessed five men being led to the dungeons in chains. “They were preaching against Tommen.” Qyburn told her, “And these are only the ones that did not manage to flee when the gold cloaks arrived. They were talking about how the gods have crushed the Freys, and how now it was the Usurper’s family’s turn. They are calling for people to ride south to join with Aegon and help him cleanse Westeros of sin. And there are other who do not preach. They simply get up and ride south to join the pretender. The High Septon condemns them, but lifts not a finger to stop them. ‘We cannot punish people before they do the crime,’ He told the council. He believes that the father above will meet justice on them eventually.” Qyburn shook his head at the words. He told her that Ser Loras had told his gold cloaks to send scouts upto the Kingswood to catch these traitors.

But even that backfired, when one of the group of scouts fell upon and killed half a dozen Warrior’s Sons. Cersei was in the balcony when she heard the raised voices from the yard below. When she reached there, she found Lancel and Ser Loras in the middle of a row. Lancel was dressed in clothes of roughspun, a simple tunic and breeches. Ser Loras was in his kingsguard whites, even though there had never been a knight who was so unworthy of them. It was common knowledge that Ser Loras could not even lift a sword anymore. Once he had been famous throughout the seven kingdoms for his beauty, but not anymore. Before, maidens would swoon if he even crossed their paths, but now the same maidens would shriek and run away from this monster. He wore a cowl to hide his face nowadays. To hide his peeling skin and red and grey blisters. His head was completely hairless, and his lower lip was gone. The gods had finally shown the world Loras Tyrell’s true colors.

“Six Warriors Sons feathered as they ran.” Lancel was shouting, “At the hands of our gold cloaks. Do you have any idea what this can do?”

Ser Loras seemed remorseless however. “It can put fear into the other would be traitors.” A crowd had formed near them. Cersei pushed through them, to get to the two men. “These were also traitors, my lord.” Loras Tyrell was saying, “And they wore the stars of the sept on their armors. Their presence in Aegon’s army would draw more pious men into it.”

“A hundred maybe.” Said Lancel, “maybe two. It’s the lords we have to worry about. And the lords won’t go into an army because of some stray warrior’s sons. And even the more pious lords would ask their septons where to go, to which they will reply that the High Septon has anointed Tommen as king. At least if he does not forsake us now.”

“Let him.” Ser Loras answered angrily, “Then we can show him who rules the seven kingdoms, and this city.”

“And who is that? You?” Lancel asked contemptuously, “What do you rule, ser? Dragonstone? Do you rule the riverlands? The Vale? The North? Do you even rule the Reach? The sparrows number upto four thousand, I remind you. And they are not only smallfolk, but also contain younger sons of petty lords from all over Westeros. To draw their enmity would be suicide. And even the smallfolk will turn against us. Your father left us with two thousand gold cloaks after his massacre. How will you defend the Red Keep with two thousand against about a hundred thousand people Ser, answer me that.”

“What would you have us do, Lord Lannister?” Came a voice. Margaery Tyrell had arrived. She moved between her brother and the lord regent. “You knew we were going to set traps for the fleeing sparrows. Did you mean for the scouts to just watch them go?”

Lancel took a breath to calm himself, “Twenty men feathered six fleeing sparrows, Your Grace. They didn’t even try to stop them or arrest them. You need to control your men better.” He said to Ser Loras.

“And what is he doing to control his?” Ser Loras asked.

“We were talking about sending ravens to the septries across the Reach and the Stormlands. Telling them that His High Holiness had a vision that this Aegon was a false dragon. But I don’t know if he will still want to help after this.”

“Write, write and talk. That is all the two of you are good for.” Ser Loras said acidly. “But you are right, we cannot fight the Swords and the Stars. We _should_ let the rebels pass. The lesser number of traitors we have in the city the better. The High Sparrow can join them.”

Lancel seemed to be fast losing his patience. “The faith is not our enemy ser. How do you not see this? Neither is His High Holiness. He is very understanding to our plight too. He was about to let me stop the payments to the faith in light of the war. We were talking about the Warrior’s Sons from the vale and the riverlands being handed over to the crown, so that they might not spread rebellion in the city. But instead, now even the Warriors Sons that supported Tommen are waving their swords at the Gold Cloaks.”

Before Ser Loras could reply, Cersei moved between the two men, “This is not the place to discuss this, my lords.” She said to them. “We should take this inside.”

Ser Loras looked around at the people gathered. “Don’t you have work to do?” He bellowed at them. “What are you waiting for? Go. Go.” He shouted at them until the crowd dispersed. “Let’s go in.” Margaery said to her brother, taking his hand, “It is not proper to shout in the yard. We can discuss this around a council table.” She looked at Loras and Cersei, “Please come my lord. Your grace.”

But Lancel hung back. “I don’t think I should, your grace.” He said, “I had best go to the Visenya’s and talk to His High Holiness, try to salvage some damage.” With a bow to Margaery and Cersei, and a last look at Ser Loras, he turned on his heels and left the yard with long, angry strides.

Salvage the damage he did, but it took two days of going back and forth between Aegon’s and Visenya’s. Finally, on the third day, Lancel came to her chambers. “The scales of justice.” He told her, seating heavily on her bed. “That is what it took to calm His High Holiness.” He accepted a goblet of wine from Cersei, “I came to you first. I am still so angry with Ser Loras, I don’t think I could have faced them.”

He looked as if he was fifty, and not a boy of one and twenty. He had started gaining weight since taking up regentship, but it seemed to have melted off, giving him the half-starved look he had carried when he had returned from Darry. Cersei asked him about his sleeping, about how much he was eating. But she could see he didn’t like her mothering him. So instead she asked him about the deal with the faith.

“It will not be a popular decision.” He said to her between sips of the wine, “My father once told me that one of crucial points of the agreement between the faith and Jaeherys was denying them the ability to judge crimes. From then on, septons could only forgive. The faith would never have agreed to this. But in those days, the faith drew its life support from the smallfolk and petty lords. It meant your life, being caught by a lord that wanted to reap Maegor’s bounty. The decision of deprivation of the scales of justice from the faith was very popular with the smallfolk, as Jaeherys knew it would be. It gave the lords more autonomy in their rule, and gave the smallfolk more leeway to sin. In reversing the decision, the situation will also be reversed. For this reason only, I convinced the High Septon to send his poor fellows and the warrior’s sons to the various septries in the riverlands and the stormlands. It will reduce the number of uncertain swords in the city, and my brothers will protect godly men instead of committing treason.”

Cersei did not understand this new Lancel. Before, when he had been a squire to Robert, and later after his death, he had reminded her of Jaime in his youth. Though without Jaime’s skill at arms. But now he seemed more like her own father. After Blackwater, he had turned to faith. Had even forsaken Darry for the faith militant. Even now Lancel preyed daily in the castle sept, many times with Tommen and Myrcella, and yet here he was manipulating the faith against the crown’s enemies. The new powers of the septons will be essential in the riverlands. The High Septon had anointed Tommen as king, and the smallfolk will be reluctant to go against his wishes. They feared god more than they feared their king. The septons will now even have swords. The lords in their castles may declare for any usurper, but these swords will only follow their High Holiness. Lancel was doing all this, and maintaining peace with the Tyrells, yet he asked Cersei for nothing. All his plans he discussed with her, as if wanting her approval, but never anything else. And Cersei herself had tried to seduce him. A smile. A kiss of gratitude. Yet Lancel never claimed what he had been eager for before. Maybe it was the eternal presence of septas and their novices around Cersei. But Cersei didn’t think so. It seemed more and more as if he enjoyed refusing her advances.

The city quieted somewhat after the high septon wrote his letters and dispatched his swords. “A thousand swords have left. Most of them to the riverlands to battle the red god.” Qyburn told them, “Yet more than twice that remain in the city.” But those that remained were under close watch by Qyburn and Tyene Sand.

But of course, the gods could not let the peace last. Cersei was with Myrcella, observing her stitching and asking her about Dorne, when Lancel came to her. Myrcella showed him her cloak. “It looks fearsome, my lady.” He said of Myrcella’s lion. The girl blushed, “I am making it for you uncle. It was Nymeria’s idea. She said you had no raiment fit for a Lord Regent to wear.”

“Was it?” Lancel asked, surprised. “What she said is true. I am the Lord Regent, but I am also of the order of the Warrior’s Sons, and must dress humbly. But I will wear this cloak if it is a gift from you.”

It pained Cersei to see her smile then. Why must she grow up? The worlds of young girls was so much simpler. Of the princesses even more so. Full of compliments, full of play, and none of the threats the grownups had to face. She could see from Lancel’s demeanor that something was wrong. She sent her daughter away and asked Lancel to sit.

“Our courier has returned.” Her cousin told her. “The pretender Aegon was waiting for Lord Tarly near Grassy Vale. Tarly was not expecting any enemy so far away from Highgarden. His army is destroyed.”

“Our courier?” Cersei asked him, aghast.

“Was too late.”

“Does anyone from the Reach can fight?” Cersei asked with frustration, “Had I known how incompetent they were, I would never have feared Renly.”

“Lord Tarly was taken by surprise. Even Jaime could do nothing against surprise, if you remember. It seems that Mathis Rowan is alive. He commanded the pretender’s van.”

“Rowan?”

“Lord Rowan had always been a Targaryn supporter, even though he dipped his banners to Eddard Stark at Storm’s End. My father told me that Lord Tywin had considered him dangerous, too proud and honorable. It was for this reason that he only sent Lord Tarly to Duskendale and Maidenpool and kept Rowan here, so that he may not deepen his ties with the enemies of the crown, that is to say with the riverlanders. Rowan may have finally chosen to heed his honor over his fear of House Tyrell.”

“What do we do now?”

“Queen Margaery has ordered me to ride south. She wants me to rally Tarly’s fleeing forced, at least those who fled north. I see no other course.”

It irritated Cersei that he had consulted Margaery first. And he calls her queen. “Why you? What about Ser Harys? Call him back. The Iron Bank is not treating with him. He is only wasting time in Braavos. Call him back and he can rally Tarly’s forces. I do not want you to go.”

“There is no time Cersei.” Lancel said, “We cannot wait for him to arrive. Besides, I need him in Braavos. The reason that the Iron Bank is not treating with him is because they made a deal with Stannis. His knight Ser Justin Massey is in Braavos, hiring sellswords.”

“But Stannis is dead.” Cersei protested. “Why is Massey buying swords?”

“For Selyse.” Lancel answered, “I commanded Ser Harys to kill Massey if he could, but he replied to me that the Sealord of Braavos has warned him that he will not take it kindly if they bring the war of westeros into Braavos. So I told him to buy the sellswords himself, so that Massey can’t get to him. He has the gold for it with him. But it will take time. He will not be here soon. I am leaving on the morrow.” When Cersei tried to speak, he took her hands in his own, “I do not want to go either, your grace, but I have no choice. The pretender is marching towards Highgarden, and Margaery wants him stopped. She would give the command to Horas Redwyn, but one of his wounds has festered, and he will be bedridden for a while. Loras Tyrell can’t lead an army. I am the only one, and it is my duty as Lord Regent. Do you want the pretender dead or not?”

Lancel left the next day. He wore a new suit of armor for the battle. It was a gift from Margaery Tyrell. The golden armor was mostly plain, but it had the seven pointed stars on its pauldrons, while another one was inlaid on its breast plate in red. The armor might be a Tyrell gift, but on his shoulders was attached the lion of Lannister, gold on crimson. Myrcella had laboriously finished her cloak last night when she had heard Lancel would be leaving today. She stood beside Cersei now, watching the High Sparrow bless Lancel for battle.

A hundred gold cloaks formed up behind Lancel outside the walls of King’s Landing. Tyrells all. And he would be riding into the Reach. What was the guarantee that he would be back. As she watched Lancel mount his horse, Cersei thought of Jaime. Why aren’t you here? How could you leave me like this? Lancel was the only friend Cersei had left in this city apart from Qyburn. Who will protect her now? She had Ser Robert, to be sure. But Ser Loras and his sister were the ones with power here, the ones who held the castle. They were the ones forcing Lancel to go, while Cersei could do nothing but watch. How bad Cersei wanted to unleash Ser Robert upon them.

Her worries were proven right that very night. Qyburn’s messengers roused her from her sleep. When she arrived at the rookery, she found Margaery and Loras Tyrell already there. Nymeria Sand appeared shortly later.

“A letter has arrived from The Arbor.” Qyburn told them. “More than half of Redwyn’s fleet has been sunk.”

Startled looks greeted him. “Sunk? How?” Loras Tyrell demanded while his sister looked at Nymeria Sand. Cersei could read the question plain on her face. Did the dornishmen betray them? It will not come as a surprise, after Rowan. And Sand herself had been afraid of something like this. Had the Sand Snake on The Arbor had betrayed Doran Martell like Rowan had betrayed Mace Tyrell?

But Qyburn soon clarified. “Lord Redwyn is not even sure how they approached the island. All he knows that suddenly fighting broke out all over the ships. The dornishmen were on the ships, and they discovered the ironmen trying to sink them. Paxter Redwyn writes that almost half of the dornish soldiers sank trying to stop them. Obara Sand had to flee the island with whatever soldiers she could save. Redwyn says that if it had not been for her, the entire fleet would be gone.” He looked at Nymeria, “Your sister is sailing for Starfall, he thinks.”

Nymeria’s mouth was a mask of worry, but not worse than the Tyrells. This is how it feels to have swords coming at you from all sides, little Queen, Cersei thought. Margaery turned to Qyburn, “Write to Ser Daven. Tell him to move his host around. He is to attack the Iron Islands with the ships he has built.”

What? Had the girl gone mad? “Your Grace.” Cersei tried to sound reasonable, like Lancel would, “The fleet at Lannisport is at most twenty Longships fit for war. They cannot take the iron islands. Daven has his men working days and nights, but it will almost take a month for a respectable fleet to be raised up.”

“Yes.” Loras Tyrell said, “We all know you have experience building ships. I request you to leave warring at least to who understand such matters for once.”

Cersei flushed. “Even if he takes all the ships in Lannisport and in the west, Greyjoy will match him more than ten ships for one. And he will leave the coast of the westerlands undefended. What if the Ironmen just attack Casterly Rock, or start raiding the westerlands?”

“They won’t. Not with their homes under attack.”

“Even a hundred ships won’t be able to do much against a thousand, unless they are warships.” Cersei’s voice was growing shrill.

“Aye, the losses will be great.” Ser Loras touched the scars on his face. “But such is the cost of war. If Ser Daven moves fast, he can even take a castle or two. They have to be undermanned now. If Euron Greyjoy turns back, Garlan can even join Lancel to…”

“There is another complication ser.” Qyburn inturrepted. “That army might be needed in the riverlands. There was a letter from Winterfell. From Lord Bolton.” He went to a table near the window and took a sack from there. When he appended it on the table in front of them, a severed head fell out.

Cersei gasped as the head rolled on the table and came to rest by it’s nose. It was hollowed out, and the skin was sunken to the bone. Black from the tar, the head had belonged to an old man who glared at them with empty eyes. “Who is it?” Margaery asked, looking very uncomfortable. The head had not rotten much, and despite the tar, Cersei could recognize the weasly old man. “Lord Walder Frey.” She said, “What was he doing at Winterfell?”

“He was not at Winterfell.” Qyburn said. “The raven arrived there with the letter shoved between Lord Frey’s teeth. Lord Bolton sent it to us. We finally know why the knights of the Vale took the Twins. Lord Hardying is leading that army in Sansa Stark’s name.”

“Sansa Stark?” Cersei asked with shock. “And my brother?”

“The letter sent to Winterfell did not mention the imp. It is written by Sansa Stark and signed by Lords Harrold Hardying, Nestor Royce, Belmore, Ser Patrek Waynwood and some others from the Vale. Lord Jason Mallister from Seaguard and Brynden Blackfish have also signed, and so has Lord Umber. It was written from Moat Cailin, which seemed to have opened its gates to Lord Hardying. A host of Frey heads were sent on strong ravens bearing the letters to all the major houses of the North, asking them to declare for Shireen Baratheon and Rickon Stark, or meet the same end as the Freys have.”

“What does Lord Bolton ask of us?” Ser Loras asked.

“He wants us to deal with Lady Sansa and the knights of the vale. He assures us that he will have Selyse and the Onion knight and this new Stark dead, just like he did Stannis.”

“No.” Margaery Tyrell said.

Cersei stared at the girl. “No? What do you mean no? She is talking about joining Shireen.”

“Shireen is a little girl. Even younger than Sansa. What threat can she be?”

“It is not Shireen you should be worried, but the Onion Knight and Selyse. Them and Stannis’ knights are not likely to forget why Stannis had to flee the Stormlands.”

Ser Loras was studying the parchment. “The letter says that Robb Stark’s crowning was a mistake. Sansa Stark writes that Lord Eddard meant for Stannis to take the throne, for he knew of your treasons. She says that the Lords of the North must adhere to her father’s wishes.”

What was he leading upto? “Lies all.” Cersei said, “But all the more reason to let Daven continue his march.”

“The northern lords may not be so quick to follow her.” Loras set the letter down. “Ned Stark’s bastard son Jon Snow has joined Selyse, no doubt for the promise of his father’s seat. But with Rickon Stark’s appearance, there will be a divide between them. It will take time to resolve. We have more immediate problems near home.”

“Or they might unite under her banner.” All they care is about the reach. “We need to heal the wound before it festers, Ser. Daven has to go to Riverrun. Elsewise the northmen could get the riverlords to rise.”

“They won’t rise.” Nymeria Sand said. “I need to vent my anger at my sister’s defeat my lords.” She looked at the Tyrells. “Give the hostages from the red wedding to me. After the riverlords hear what is being done to them, they will beg us to stop. They will not rise.”

“It’s decided then.” Margaery said, “Qyburn, turn the hostages over to Lady Sand.” Any animosity against the dornish had apparently disappeared in light of Redwyn’s letter. “We will let Sansa go north, and see…”

Finally, Cersei snapped. “Has my lady forgotten that it was Sansa Stark who killed her last husband? She killed my son!”

“As you killed her father.” Loathing was plain in the girl’s face, “She is not an enemy of house Tyrell. She hated Joffrey, and maybe she killed him. Or maybe she did not. But she hasn’t acted against Tommen yet. If we can forge a peace with her, we will. The hostages will help in that.”

“I will not suffer her alive.” Cersei told the girl, fuming.

“You will.” Ser Loras said “The new army exiting the Vale can just as easily turn to King’s Landing if we move against her. Also, Tyrells are not Lannisters, making enemies where they could have friends. Ser Daven will go to the Iron Islands.” He called his guards, “Shadd, Layton, take the queen to her chambers, and keep her there until I say otherwise.”

There was nothing she could do. She went meekly with the guards, while the Tyrells and the dornishwomen planned how to be cowards in the best way. She was in no position to resist. But if they thought her defeated, they were grievously mistaken. In her solar, the novices were alarmed to see her throw the curtains open. “I want to feel the wind on my face.” She told them. Outside the snows had started falling. It will be worse on the wall. If only Selyse would be buried in it. As she waited, she thought of how she hated them all. The novices, the septas and the Tyrells who kept her under prison. Kept her son away from her. Randyll Tarly and Mace Tyrell, defeated by a boy and a dead man. Mathis Rowan, that traitor. Those boys Garlan and Willas, not being able to root the ironmen out. The Boltons, doing half the work only. She had to take things into her own hands now.

She dropped the parchment when she saw Lord Qyburn come stand beneath her window.

 


	25. Tyrion III

****

The Iron Captain’s voice rang over the pillars of the Grand Room of the Astapori pyramid as he recounted his tale. Around the table, Tyrion Lannister could see that the initial relief of the councilors at the news that Viserion was alive and well was disappearing. He himself was beginning to feel their apprehension. He glanced at the Iron Captain’s arm. The newer one. The better one. Muscular and veiny like the other one, the veins on this one were red and pulsing. Elsewhere, the flesh was a mess of hissing red and yellow. As if fire. He had heard that Greyjoy had thrown Mormont bodily across the room, just by that one hand. Even though that was clearly a falsehood, there was no greater truth than the fact that the gods had given him a dragon. Tyrion vowed to himself not to cross the Iron Captain

“I know that this must come as a shock to you.” Victarion said after finishing his tale. “Maybe it was gratitude of me saving it, or maybe Viserion just likes the way I smell. Whatever it is, the dragon is mine.”

Ser Barristan sat at the head of the square table with his eyes closed and his hands pressed together beneath his chin. He looked up to Greyjoy at these words. “The dragons belongs to Daenerys, no one else.” He said, his voice carrying the tiniest amount of a, warning? Threat?

“Then let me bring her back.” Greyjoy put his hands on the table, unfazed. “With the dragon, I can scour the dothraki sea. Look for our queen. You want her to return to her home, don’t you old man?” He asked as if he were challenging Ser Barristan to deny it.

“The dothraki sea is vast.” _jaqqa rhan_ Rommo cautioned, “And the queen is so small. Even with a dragon, it might be an impossible quest.”

Greyjoy looked at the dothraki like someone might look at a worm, “She is a queen. She has a dragon. People will have seen her. I will give them a choice. The truth, or dragonfire.”

Ser Barristan looked away at this. Seeing that no one was offering any protest, Skahaz cleared his throat. “The dragon will be more use here.” He looked around the table, knowing he was saying what was on everyone’s mind, but what no one dared to say, “New Ghis is broken. But the Quartheen are marching towards Meereen. And the Volantene fleet has sailed as well. Whether it is going towards New Ghis or will meet the Quartheen at Meereen, we do not know. Our forces are spread thin between the four cities. The dragon will be more suited on battlefields, just like our Iron Captain.”

Tyrion was suppressed a smile. It was not like Skahaz Mo Kandaq to bother with flattery. He knows he is taking the least popular side. All around the table, eyes were staring at The Shavepate with accusation, “Don’t you want our queen returned to us, Shavepate?” Rommo asked with scorn.

The Shavepate bristled, “Of course I do. But we do not know where she is. Or even if she is alive. What we do know is that there are two armies coming towards us, however.”

Greyjoy grunted, “You came to Astapor so that the Milk Men will not attack Meereen, for fear of getting attacked from the rear. You have also taken Yunkai. Quarth does not have just one city to attack, but three. And as for the Volantene fleet.  Have no fear on that account. For even if I am gone, my Iron Fleet will stay at New Ghis. I promise that the Volantene Fleet will not pass through the Ghiscari Straits.”

“It has been more than two moon turns since Daenerys dissapered.” The Shavepate pointed out through gritted teeth. Tyrion had to admit that the man had guts, to go against the entire council. The fool. “If we have not heard about her whereabouts yet, that can only mean that she doesn’t want to come back. Which we know cannot be. The other option is that she is captured by her foes. She does not lack for those, I remind you. Even if you managed to find them, an arrow travels faster than a dragon. Daenerys will be dead before you even land.”

“She won’t die.” Morroqo said from his seat. The black red priest cast a glance at Tyrion and smiled, “Nor is she dead. Daenerys Targaeryn is the scourge that is meant to wipe the world of it’s sins. The lord of light will not take her from us so soon.”

“The moment I make battle plans according to god’s wills,” The Shavepate said with disdain, “Is the moment I leave my home and family to go live as a hermit in the red waste.”

“Maybe The Shavepate likes the state of things as they are.” Ser Jorah said, “I know I would, if it meant I am ruling four cities.”

The Shavepate got to his feet, his chair falling behind him with a crash, “Say that again with a sword in your hands, traitor.”

Ser Barristan intervened as Mormont also stood up. “Enough.” He said in a tone that brooked no argument, “Ser Jorah, sit down. Skahaz, however impossible it may seem, the effort must be made. Please take your seat.” He glared at both men until they sat down, “Come Lord Victarion, we shall see to your preparations. I want you to leave as soon as possible.”

The Shavepate lingered behind as the council chambers emptied, motioning for Tyrion to do the same. “Why didn’t you say something?” He hissed at Tyrion, “Did seeing the old man unman you suddenly?”

Too close to the truth, that. Jorah Mormont was gone far too away from his honor, and could compromise the rest of what was remaining to realize his goals, even take help from a Lannister. Or let his queen’s dragons be enslaved by an Ironman. But not Ser Barristan. Not the kingsguard, no. Should Tyrion say, or even think a wrong thing at a wrong time, Ser Barristan would instantly find a noose to fit his neck. But no, he has not unmanned me. Not yet. “The council wanted him to go save their queen.” He said to the Shavepate, “There was no point in protesting. Best not to fight a battle you know you are going to lose.”

“The council is a fool.” The Shavepate spat. “They have forgotten the real Daenerys. Danearys lived for her people. She knew her own limitations, and always considered them. These fools are holding her to be a goddess, and think that all their problems will be solved if they found her. They forget that they themselves have led Meereen quite well since she has been gone. The Daenerys I knew would have told them to take care of the more immediate problems first.”

Shavepate’s frustrations were understandable. It was at his behest that Ser Barristan had allowed Tyrion to keep his head. Had Skahaz not vouched for his loyalty, Tyrion would be dead right on entering Astapor. And then Tyrion had seemingly abandoned him when he needed help, “Daenerys could solve some of their problems.” He said, trying to sooth the bald giant, “An empire needs and emperor. Or an empress. All the marriages we performed in Meereen, or are still going to perform in Yunkai and Astapor as well, will be more binding for the people if Daenerys were brokering them. Thousands that are uncertain about the red god will give up the harpy and join Morroqo in his nightfires if Daenerys tells them to.”

“And will she tell them to? Greyjoy does not need to find her. He could just fly home on his dragon. Better that than rescue a queen who might try to take away his dragon.”

Tyrion laughed, “Is that what worries you? Have no fear of that my lord. He is of the Iron Islands. He will not leave his fleet behind. Even for a dragon. He will find Daenerys if he can and come back. Then he will try to persuade her to come back with him to Westeros. Until she concedes, he won’t leave. If you knew Ironmen, you would never even ask this question.”

“I know about Ironmen.” Shavepate grumbled, “I have glanced at a map of Westeros, to see from where all of you are turning up. The Iron Islands are very close to your home. Some rock, I forget the name. Are you sure you would want a dragonrider so close to your home?” He walked away, still angry.

No I wouldn’t. Tyrion thought as he followed the Shavepate outside. But there would be other dragonriders, at least one other. And I will make sure that he or she will be a friend of the Rock.

The Iron Captain left the next morning. The council gathered on the terrace of the Ruler’s Pyramid to bid him their well wishes, though Tyrion kept his to himself, as did the Shavepate. When all the councilors stepped back, the red priest Morroqo stepped forward. He had lit a bonfire atop the terrace, and the fires seemed to burn more brightly as the red priest and Victarion Greyjoy stepped up to the dragon. There was a saddle on the dragon’s back. Made by the ironmen in New Ghis, no doubt copied from some ancient annals they found in the city. The dragon seemed impatient. It regarded them with eyes of molten lava, its teeth bared.

The dragon let out a roar as the Iron Captain hopped onto the saddle. All the gathered men stepped back, all except for Morroqo. “May the lord of light protect you.” The red priest chanted. The bonfire seemed to burn brighter behind him. “Show your servant Victarion the way R’hllor. Lead him to your champion, the mother of dragons.” The Ironmen in the gathered crowd cheered at this. And soon others took up the chant. “Mother of dragosn. Mother of dragons.” And “Victarion.” Or “Greyjoy.” And amidst the cheers, Victarion Greyjoy wheeled his mount to the edge of the terrace, and took off with a single beat of the dragon’s wings. The wall of the wind almost knocking Tyrion over.

When the cheering died down, it was like no one knew what to say. They continued to look up uncertainly, looking at Viserion growing small in the sky, as if they expected Victarion Greyjoy to return immediately with their queen. Finally, when the dot in the sky dissapered, Ser Barristan stepped in front of the crowd. He cleared his throat. “Well. That’s done.” He looked back to the sky, as if looking for his queen. “The Iron Captain will return when he will.” He looked back at them, “Hopefully with our queen. Meanwhile we have a kingdom to rule.”

That they did. Over the next few days, the councilors left for the respective cities that had been given to them. Four cities. And Three sellsword companies plus the Ironmen. Selmy had wanted split the companies so that there were a few sellswords from each company in each city. But the respective captains were vehemently against it. And Selmy did not want to leave a city in the hands of Sellswords alone. So he had split the Unsullied instead. Two Thousand each went to each city including New Ghis. The Stormcrows stayed in Yunkai where Skahaz would go and command them with the Mother’s Men. Selmy left to take charge of Meereen, where the Windblown were stationed. The Ironmen, with the Stalwart Sheilds would stay in New Ghis.

Tyrion was left in Astapor with the Second Sons. The appointment surprised him, even more so because it came from Barristan Selmy himself. “You led King’s Landing against Stannis.” The old knight said to him, “You kept the city afloat against Joffrey’s madness. Skahaz says that you have been tremendous help in Meereen.” That were his reasons to give Tyrion the charge of restoring Astapor. “We will send you the noblemen and freedmen from Yunkai and Meereen.” Skahaz and Selmy promised him. “With their help, you should be able to settle the pyramids.”

This was the most respect he had been given by a westerosi in a long time. So Tyrion took it well salted. Maybe this was just Selmy emulating Tyrion’s father. Sending him to hold the left. _Well Ser,_ He thought as they were returning from the port after seeing to Selmy’s ship, _even if I die defending Astapor against the Quartheen_ , _I will not go down without making mischief._ He pulled his horse alongside Ser Jorah’s.

The Second Sons had arrived in Astapor with Selmy, who left them in the city with Tyrion. Mormont was expected to take them to scout the Quartheen army’s progress. But Tyrion had other plans. It was time to roll the dice and see how much far from his honor Jorah Mormont had gone. “There was once a girl.” Tyrion said as they rode through the dusty streets, leading the second sons. “Her name escapes me, but she lived during the Dance. One of the mistresses of the Prince Daemon. The one who created the gold cloaks in King’s Landing.” The knight gave no indication of listening, but Tyrion pressed on. “During the war, a time came when Princess Rhenarya had the dragons, but they were falling short of the riders. So they announced that any man who could tame that could tame the dragons, could. They offered lands and titles and riches, but none were necessary. The prospect of riding the dragons alone brought many adventurers.”

Ser Jorah looked at him incredulously, “Only Targaeryns rode dragons.”

“After that, yes. Mostly because two of the newly made dragonriders committed horrors and treasons beyond reason. The Targaryens never let anyone else become a rider of the dragons after that. Not even the Velaryons, who were always such staunch supporters of the royal family, and had a few dragons of their own.” The Velaryon dragon eggs had stopped hatching even before the Targaeryn eggs. Some suspected that they had been replaced with rocks by the royal family.

“How did they tame the dragons? These new dragons?” Ser Jorah wanted to know. Behind them the column rode well away from the duo at Tyrion’s signal. They were mostly Second Sons, and by now knew to listen to the Halfman. So Tyrion was able to talk freely. “The more prominent of those who dared to approach the dragons were aided by the Prince Jacaerys, Rhenarya’s heir.” Tyrion said, “Addam of Hull became Addam Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, after her mastered the dragon that had once borne Laenor Velaryon. Many others tried, and got burned for their troubles. But not all were of high birth. A man named Ulf the Sot took the Good Queen Allysanne’s dragon. He later went on to defect to Aegon.”

“And what about this girl?”

Tyrion rubbed at his missing nose. “The girl mastered one of the wild, untamed dragons at Dragonstone. Nettles, I remember her name now. The rest of these dragons in the Targaeryn and Velaryon menagerie had had riders before, and were relatively easier to tame. And Prince Jacaerys was always ready with the horns.”

“Horns?”

“The Targaeryns, and the dragonlords before them, they controlled their dragons with horns. And spells.”

Ser Jorah frowned, “Victarion Greyjoy has no dragon horn, as far as I know.”

“Neither did the girl. She brought sheep for the dragon to feed on. Everyday, until it got accustomed to her presence. Then when she mounted him, he was hers. No horn or spell needed.”

“But Greyjoy- I am sure he did not feed Viserion sheep. The dragon never landed on the Iron Victory. I am sure.”

Tyrion resisted an urge to smack his own face. “No, he rescued the dragon from a certain death.” God’s, he is as thick as the Wall, “So, for Rhaegal, you would need to fake an attack, and hope that he will accept you as a rider when you rescue him.”

“Me-?” Ser Jorah started to say, but Tyrion cut him off “Or you can do what Nettles did. So by the time the queen returns, Victarion Greyjoy will not be the only dragonrider in Meereen.” He looked the knight in the eyes, hoping he will get it. And agree to it. It was one thing to make an alliance with son of the man who killed the queen’s nephews, and another to take one of her own children and making him his own. But Tyrion was sure he knew what Mormont would choose.

In the coming days, the city of Astapor gradually gained life. A stream of people started coming in from Yunkai and Meereen, and it fell to Tyrion to settle them in their new homes. He had Second Sons and the Free Brothers and a thousand Unsullied at his disposal, and it made the task more manageable. Upon entry inside the city gates, every man had to present his family and kin to the Unsullied captain. The captain would send the man and his family to different places in the city according to the size of the family and what craft the family knew. Tyrion wanted to create a balanced city. He distributed the incoming people around the pyramids according to a few sets of rules. An armorer for a hundred people. A healer for fifty. The markets will be managed by former free citizens of Slaver’s Bay, and the shops will be owned by whoever that had experience. The temples of the harpies he demolished, and gave them to the red priests. He wished that Morroqo had stayed back, but he had left with the Ironmen for New Ghis. Still, the nightfires were now could be seen burning in the city from the Ruling Pyramid in the night. Boats plied the worm to catch fish. The trenching of the ground had also begun. In a week, he opened the fighting pits of Astapor so that soldiers may train inside. He also had freedmen crawling over the walls of Astapor, strengthening them. He did not mean to present the Quartheen with a soft target.

Every time the houses surrounding a pyramid were filled, Tyrion held a wedding, in the light of the lord. The weddings were modest, but at every one, Tyrion had the place of honor. Although he didn’t much like weddings, given his past experience with them, he tolerated them as long as no one requested to rub the head of the dwarf for luck. None did. Instead, for the first time in his life, Tyrion Lannister was not only given the place of honor, but honor itself. And not only in weddings, which were comprised mostly of Yunkish and Meereenese nobility, but in the streets as well. The people knew who he was. They knew that they had a new home and a functioning city and jobs because of the dwarf on the ruling council. The crowd would hail at him when he passed the streets. Boys would run behind his horse, shouting for Meereen, and the Queen, and the Halfman. The whores would smile at him when he mounted them in the nights. And he was even thankful that none of them called him the giant of the Lannisters.

It felt good to be respected. Even better to be loved. But Tyrion did not let it blind him. Sometimes, he did not understand how tens of thousands of people came to a city that could soon be under attack. Sure, in Meereen and Yunkai, Ser Barristan and The Shavepate were actively routing people out of the city to go to Astapor. But Tyrion had not expected so many to come, given that an army was marching towards them. He guessed that they wanted to do their part in defending their kingdom, and wanted to make the empty pyramids their own. The recent victories of their armies had given them new confidence. Their overconfidence might get them killed, but right now it served Tyrion’s purpose. Yet no matter how much confidence they had in Selmy and his army, Tyrion was skeptical, and every evening, he turned his horse to Jothiel’s pit. Where the dragon was.

The pit was guarded by the Second Sons, to prevent the Unsullied of the free brothers, or anyone else go inside.  And even they didn’t know what was really going on inside. All they knew was that Tyion had designated the pit to be the feeding place for the remaining dragon, Rhaegal. What they didn’t know, could not know, was that Ser Jorah was living in the pit as well. Mormont had convinced Brown Ben to lie to Ser Barristan and tell him that Ser Jorah had left to scout the quartheen army. In truth, only Ben had gone. And even he did not know why Ser Jorah had staying behind. Neither Mormont nor Tyrion wanted to take the chance of him finding out that they were planning to tame Rhaegal.

Tyrion had thanked the gods that the dragon had not left the city after Victarion Greyjoy did. He had ordered the pit filled with bulls and sheep immediately after Selmy and the Shavepate had left. Soon after, Ser Jorah had taken residence in the pit. He had, with a few Second Sons, locked the cattle in the bowels of the pit, and daily would feed the dragon only so much that it returned the next day again. In a week, Rhaegal would visit the pit daily, and spend more and more time with Mormont, with the unsullied and Ser Barristan none the wiser.

At least for a while.

Tyrion was lying with Mekeezee, the pride of the Yellow House in Yunkai when the banging on the door woke him up. It was morning, but Tyrion had not slept much the night before. He was still groggy as he made his way to the door. Ignoring the whore calling him back to the bed, he opened the door. It was Inkpots, “Quick. You must go to Jothiel’s Pit.” The paymaster said to him, his eyes wide. “Ser Barristan and The Shavepate are there. There is some trouble.”

Tyrion looked at him, incredulous. “Selmy and-. What in seven hells are they doing there, at Jotheil’s? What are they doing here in the city?”

“There was a message last night. I did not want to disturb you. You were…” Inkpots nodded towards Mekeezee.

Fool. Tyrion cursed him silently, “What did the message say?”

“It said that they, Ser Barristan and The Shavepate were coming to Astapor to see the progress of the city, and discuss the possibility of leading an army from Astapor to Quarth in light of the message two days ago.”

Two days ago, the message had arrived that the slaves in the Quartheen army had rebelled and attacked their masters. The Quartheen had not taken that many slaves in their army, fearing this very thing, and alone, the few slaves that were present in the army would have been put down. But five days ago, when the army had been at Port Yhos, the Volantene fleet had been attacked by the Ironmen from New Ghis. The Captain of Port Yhos had tried to defend the Volantene fleet, with the help of the Quartheen army, but the slaves in the quartheen army and in the town of Port Yhos had joined forces and had attacked their masters. The result had been that the Ironmen had taken Port Yhos and the Quartheen were retreating to their city.

Tyrion had expected that instead of waiting for the Quartheen to mount a new attack, Selmy might want to take the battle to them, especially when the cities were in the middle of so many reforms. But why was the old man here without his army. And why had they gone to Jothiel’s pit. It did not make any sense. No matter how much I hurry, it is fruitless, he thought. There was no way he could make it to the pit before Ser Barristan gains entry and finds Ser Jorah inside. Briefly, as he pulled on his tunic, Tyrion considered making for the port and convincing some captain to help him escape.

When he reached the pit, he found the guards outside. “They demanded to go in.” Moreno told him, “Daarion Naharis was leading them. We could not stop them.”

I should have gone to the port, Tyrion thought. Trepidation mounted over him as he climbed off his horse and went inside. Is this the place where Selmy takes my head? What in seven hells was Naharis doing here?

They were standing over the fighting ground. Skahaz and Selmy and Mormont. And Daarion Naharis. A few Second Sons were also present. All were armored, except Ser Jorah. They all turned to watch Tyrion approach on his stunted legs. How long have they been talking? The dragons was behind them, looking majestic even while gorging on a bull. Ser Jorah must have just fed him.

Ser Barristan addressed Tyrion as he approached, “You knew about this?” The old man’s voice was controlled, calm. But Tyrion sensed that only a twig was holding the dam.

How much had Ser Jorah told them? The best bet was everything. So Tyrion told them, “It was mine own idea.”

The Shavepate was livid. “You were helping a traitor enslave the queen’s dragon?”

Ser Barristan spoke before Tyrion could reply, “I should have known better than to trust a Lannister.” The anger was increasing in his voice with every word. “We trusted that you had the humanity enough to help the slaves find their homes. We gave you a city to govern. We gave you a chance to earn the queen’s forgiveness. Instead you…”

“Instead I nothing.” Tyrion finished. His trepidation had given way to anger by now, “Would you like Daenerys to become a prisoner of the Ironmen Ser? Because that is what will happen, if he is the only dragonrider here. I did what I thought was best for the queen and her kingdoms. Both Slaver’s Bay and Westeros.” It would have been sweet if Tyrion could take the dragon for himself, but he knew not to reach too far. No whole man would accept a half one to mount the dragon. Tyrion would be killed in his sleep. Or on the chamberpot. “Mormont is a westerosi, like us.” He said to Ser Barristan. “That way, Danaerys won’t have to leave a dragon behind when she leaves. You know you have to trust him. By now he should have earned it.” He leered at the white knight, “Would you rather it had been me?”

Selmy went silent. Skahaz was shaking with anger. But it was Naharis who spoke up, “Mormont is a traitor in both of them.” He said, “Here and in The Seven Kingdoms. The queen sent him away. He does not deserve a dragon.” They Tyroshi sellsword’s eyes were bright and intense. As if he had not slept in days. He was trembling with anger and fear.

Ser Jorah snorted at him, “And who does? Greyjoy?” He asked with contempt.

“No. Me.” Daario answered. “The queen chose me.” He said to Ser Barristan. “And she sent him away.”

Barristan Selmy and the Shavepate were too surprised by the sellsword’s words to say anything. But Ser Jorah started laughing. A contemptuous laugh. “You? The queen chose you to be her concubine. Her whore. She needs a husband, not a who…”

He never finished his sentence. Ser Barristan bulled into him to save him from the sellsword’s sword. Mormont’s knife went flying from his hand as he fell to the ground. Above him, a shouting Daario started matching blows with the White Knight to get past him. All around them, the second sons drew their swords to get at the two fighting swordsmen.

But they all stopped short when the Dragon screamed. All but Ser Barristan and Daario Naharis. Whether it were the shouts and the ringing steel or Ser Jorah falling to the ground, Tyrion never knew. But the dragon, for whatever reasons, loosed fire. The White Knight never saw it, but Naharis did.

The warmth came as a sudden rush, as did the last gasp of Barristan the Bold. Tyrion did not know when he started running, but he stopped only when he lost his footing and went down on his missing nose. Flipping, he looked back to where the fighting was still going on. The dragon was in the air, sending waves of wind across the pit as he beat his wings, watching the fight on the ground. Below him, two men fought as the third tried to outrun his burning clothes. Ser Jorah had picked up Ser Barristan’s fallen sword. _The dragon does not want to hurt Mormont_ , Tyrion realized. _It cares about him._ _My experiment was successful_. As for Ser Barristan, his cloak was aflame, as was his surcoat. And the hair on his head. Even from this far, Tyrion could smell the stench of burning flesh. Tyrion got up at same time as the second sons started again rushing forward. They might still have saved Ser Barristan, but he, in his fright, strayed too far from Ser Jorah. The dragon loosed fire again. This time, when orange blue fires cleared, Ser Barristan Selmy was on the ground, no longer moving.

The dragon screamed again as Daario’s sword took Jorah Mormont’s head off.


	26. Arianne I

****

The Ashford Hall was filled to capacity. Men sat across a dozen trestle tables, waiting for the feast to begin. Pipes and Fiddles played in the balcony, directly above Arianne. Seated here on the highest bench, the dornish princess could hear the buzzing of the crowd as well as the reedy music from above. She didn’t know which annoyed her the most. But all fell silent when the doors to the hall opened and the king walked in.

Aegon strode in the hall as men began to rise. “Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his name.” The herald cried into the dying buzz of the hall. “King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men.” Cheers filled the hall. “Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. The returned dragon.” Arianne smiled as the men began shouting the name of the king she had decided to place on the Iron Throne.

Aegon took the high seat of the Ashford’s, right beside Arianne’s seat. Lord Andrew Ashford sat on his other side. On her other side, Arianne had the blustering Lord Rowan. “Be seated.” Aegon called to the crowd in front of them in a booming voice that seemed too big for his frame. “I thank Lord Ashford for offering me his hospitality, and his bread and salt.” The Ashford men in the hall cheered, some thumping the benches. “May the bond between the Targaryens and Ashford never waver!” The king said, “Let the feast begin.”

Lord Andrew Ashford was a generous host. His serving men walked in carrying dishes after dishes. There was a mountain of upturned apple slices, with a pineapple on top. There were lemon pies, stuffed with almonds and cloves. Entire pigs were brought in on plates, their dead eyes shining in the light of the torches. On the benches below them, Arianne could see people stuffing themselves with turkeys and Lamprey pies. Outside, she knew the common men at arms were being given chicken and goat kid.

“This is weak apple.” Lord Rowan said to her, tossing one back in his plate after coring it. “If the princess wants to eat real apples that make the Reach proud, she must come to Goldengove.”

Arianne smiled at him, “I had heard Cider Hall was more popular for apples.”

“Cider Hall is famous for Cider.” Rowan replied, “As you will see when we get there. There was a time, when apples could be found all over the reach. But then men discovered farming, and the forests were cut down. At Goldengrove though, we preserved our groves, our gardens. The castle is surrounded by the forest for miles. You have never seen such beauty. It is a wet world. It rains a lot there near the coast, and a wet forest is a paradise.”

“I will look forward to it.” Arianne said to him. Goldengrove was far enough away from the Dornish Marches that the Rowans didn’t hate the Dornishmen as much as some other Reachmen, like Andrew Ashford. That was the reason the king had sat Lord Andrew on his other side, she was certain. Castle Ashford was right next to the dornish marches. Lord Ashford had a healthy contempt for the dornishmen, and it hadn’t helped that a dornish host had been camped in the Boneway for over two years. While westeros had been warring in the north, and the reachmen stuffing their pockets with spoils of war, Lord Ashford hadn’t moved from his castle, to safeguard it from the treacherous dornish for first Renly, and then Mace Tyrell. Arianne suspected that was the reason he had opened his gates to Aegon, so he will get some fruits from this war at least.

On her other side, the king was carving out a deer. “I had heard Lord Ashford was going to serve us stag.” He told Arianne during bites. “I sent Duck to the kitchens to make sure that that wasn’t the case. Unfortunately, it was.”

Arianne was as amused as she was horrified. “Exactly how I felt.” Aegon pointed at her expressions with a fork, “I sent Haldon to him to suggest that it might not be the best jape.”

“Thank sevens he listened.” Arianne said, and then made a face. “Though, I cannot be the one to criticize him.” She told him about the sugar skulls served in Sunspear when the mountain’s head had been presented to them. Aegon frowned, “Have you heard about the newest knight of Tommen’s kingsguard, my lady?” Arianne nodded as she sipped her wine. “Nymeria has written to my father about it.” She said, “Ser Robert Strong. As tall and wide and as strong as Gregor Clegane, but more pious and very silent. Does Cersei Lannister think that having him never lift his helm will keep his real identity secret?”

“Varys will have us believe that he doesn’t lift his helm because he is headless. He says that this man Qyburn woke Greagor Clegane from the dead. He writes that Qyburn is a worse monster than Gregor Clegane ever was.”

The Eunuch was still in hiding in the Red Keep, Arianne knew, to spy on the Tyrells and help Aegon stay one step ahead of their plans. But if this was the kind of things he reported, Arianne didn’t know how he was going to be of any help. “Now you know why eunuchs belong in mummeries.” She said to Aegon.

The jape didn’t sit well with the king. “Varys is the reason I am alive, princess.” He said with a slight frown. “Had he not spirited me from King’s Landing before the Lannisters and the Stark arrived, or helped me stay alive in Essos, I wouldn’t be here today. He was an outcast even in my grandfather’s court, Lord Connington has told me. A freak from across the narrow sea who whispers in the king’s ear. He had no cause to love me, or to stay loyal to the Targaryens. But he was the only one who did.”

Arianne apologized immediately, “I didn’t mean any disrespect, your grace. It is just that for years he has been seen as Robert’s servant, and Dorne does not love him. Though, I see now that it was just a misundertsanding. A misunderstanding construed by him, I might say.” She raised her wine goblet, “He does not belong in a mummery, but he is a master mummer. To the best mummer in Westeros.”

“Magister Illyrio calls him a wizard.” The king said, raising his goblet. Arianne almost shook her head. This must have been why Lord Connington had insisted she go with Aegon’s army to the Reach. This king was too sensitive, and too generous. She could understand this matter about Varys, but at Storm’s End, when Lord Rowan had come to Aegon and offered him his loyalty, Aegon had promised to give him Margaery Tyrell for his grandson. And when Lord Ashford had opened his castle to him, Aegon had almost offered a kingsguard cloak to his second son. Arianne intervened in time however. She convinced Aegon that he couldn’t go on giving gifts to every lord who declares for him, the next one will ask for one as well, and soon Aegon will run out of gifts to give.

Lord Connington was at Storm’s End. He had been wounded while trying to subdue Mace Tyrell’s men. Ser Hobber Redwyn had cut him multiple times, and the old sellsword was only alive because his nephew had come to his help and struck Ser Hobber in the head with a mace. Though Arianne couldn’t fault someone for getting wounded in battle, Lord Jon’s wounds had almost upset all their plans. Lord Connington was going lead the golden company and his nephew’s Stormlanders west into the heartlands of the Reach. He was to pose a boy as Aegon in his army, making King’s Landing think that Aegon was marching toward Highgarden with him. They knew that Randyll Tarly had been heading west, and Red Ronnet had assured them that victory over him was certain, as had been achieved later. But even after destroying Lord Tarly, Lord Jon would have continued on toward Highgarden, to focus Lord Garlan’s attention, and that of a possible Lannister army should one emerge from the hills, on himself. Varys was sure that Loras and Margaery Tyrell would send whatever swords she could find after Lord Jon, to stop him from reaching Highgarden which was already so vexed by the Ironmen, and also hoping for captives they could trade for their father. And as King’s Landing would get stripped of its protector, the real Aegon would join forces from the Dornish army in the the Boneway, and with Arianne, descend upon King’s Landing. The Dornishmen would finally have revenge for Elia and Rhaenys, and for Prince Oberyn.

But Ser Hobber hadn’t left Lord Connington in much condition to command an army. And had they waited for him to heal, they would have missed the chance of smashing Tarly. Timing was crucial for their plan. So Aegon had switched places with his Hand, and Arianne had agreed to go with him. Arianne knew he had wanted to be the one to conquer King’s Landing, but he had made the sacrifice for keeping in accord with the plan. “At least I will get the credit for ridding the Reach of the Ironmen.” She had heard him say to Lord Connington.

The feast lasted well into the night. Below on the trestle tables, wine flowed freely as jugglers and fools waltzed between them. Three singers sang for them near the high table. All songs to please Aegon. They sand The Hammer and The Anvil, Seven Swords for Seven Sons, Deremond, The Dragonknight. When he had had enough, Aegon called for a dornish ballad in Arianne’s honor, and she had to suffer through ten verses of mistakes in The Shining Sun from a singer who clearly had never sung it before. Aegon gave her an embarrassed smile as she offered the singer a purse of coins, and didn’t ask for a dornish song again.

When the feast was over, and the dishes were being cleared, Arianne excused herself and slipped out of the hall. Outside, the moon hung low, larger than Arianne had ever seen it. She climbed to the wallwalks Elia and Jayne Ladybright, talking about the reach knights and giggling. “Ser Edmund likes the look of me.” Elia told Arianne as they were walking, “I saw him eying me before the feast. I bet he will take me for a squire.”

“You are not going to squire for a reachman, or any man for that matter.” Arianne admonished her, “And I am sure Ser Edmund was eying you for some very different reasons.” She said, making Elia and Jayne go into a fit of giggling. She knew the girl had drunk too much, and that she was probably aware of Ser Edmund’s intentions. “Jayne, take Elia to our chambers.” She commanded, “And see that she doesn’t embarrass the dornish reputation.” When asked when she herself would return, Arianne told them that she wanted to take a walk alone.

From the battlements, she could see the camp spread out before her, its torches flickering in a sea of darkness. Fifteen thousand strong, the army was. Five thousand Golden Company, six thousand Stormlanders, and about four thousand Reachmen. Arianne couldn’t see the banners in the night, but she knew who they all were. Connington men, Estermont, Errols, Tudberry, Medows, Penrose, Peake, Rowan and Ashford. There were some from Tarly’s erstwhile army as well, captives that had sworn Aegon their sword. Arianne wouldn’t have thought it possible for Aegon to gather so much support so quickly, but here she was, looking at the camp.

It had been Red Ronnet who had delivered them to Aegon, at least most of them. The farce playing out in King’s Landing; the murders, the twin trials and the arming of the faith, had had the Stormlanders already losing confidence in the great southron alliance between the Tyrells and the Lannisters. And to them Red Ronnet had pointed out how the Tyrells were eating the fruits of victory alone, while sending the stomlanders into the Riverlands to take back Riverrun. For the past year or so, after Lord Tywin’s death, Red Ronnet had been forming an understanding of sorts between the lords of Storm’s End: That if Stannis came back from the north alive and victorious, they will all bend their knees to him. That was the only way Stannis would have spared them. He had convinced them to do it for Aegon instead.

The Reachmen were a different story. Mathis Rowan had been injured in the battle before Storm’s End. Aegon gave him apartments as suited his noble birth, but as soon as he could, Rowan had pulled himself out of his sickbed and gone to lay his sword at The King’s feet. “I have been ashamed of myself ever since I dipped my banners to Eddard Stark.” He confessed to Aegon, “I did so at Mace Tyrell’s behest. And after that so many things. Robert. Renly. The Lannisters. Monsters all.” Aegon claimed to Arianne that there were tears in the man’s eyes, “Let me repent, your grace.” Lord Rowan had said, “Make me your man, and I will never fail you.”

And so he hadn’t. At least not very much. He had not been able to capture Tarly at the Grassy Vale. But that army of twenty thousand strong was broken because of him. And when word spread that Mathis Rowan had declared for the new dragon, more and more supporters came to them. Lord Elwood Medows was the first, lord of the Grassy Vale. Then came the knight of the green hands, Ser Roland Uffering. Lord Titus Peake of Starpike. Even Lord Andrew Ashford had opened his gates to Aegon. Though Ser Duck suspected that he had only declared for Aegon so that Aegon won’t attack him.

There was a chill in the air. Winter had begun. She pulled her furs closer and slowed her pace, the food in her belly making her sleepy. There were an occasional guardsmen on the walls that nodded toward her as she passed. Elsewise she was alone. She had not even taken her shield, Ser Deizel, with her. There was no need. She may be surrounded by Reachmen, but no one would dare to lay a hand on her. She was the princess of Dorne, and the King’s companion and advisor. She didn’t know if this thrilled her or worried her. The king made use of his advisors frequently, all of them, and Arianne was always worried about giving him the wrong advice. And to her father. It was upon her word that Dorne had cast the dice, and she was worried of what might it mean for Dorne if she had judged this dragon incorrectly…

A voice interrupted her thoughts. “A great tourney was held here.” It was the king himself. He was walking toward her with his white knight, Ser Duck, following him. He gestured towards the white fields across the river, “Lords great and small had come to see it, and even Targaryen princes from the Red Keep.”

Arianne looked northward. There behind the camp, the Cockleswent flowed silently, and behind it, land rose on the other side, the snow glittering in the moonlight. “The smallfolk also came in numbers, and the fair and the market was one of the biggest in the Reach.” Aegon was saying as he came and stood near her, gazing outwards to the river, “But later, the tourney became infamous. Every lord from Dorne to the Wall cursed it. Why? They asked, why was a prince sacrificed for a lowly hedge knight?”

“If only they knew.” Arianne replied. Her father had told her the story many a time, to impress upon her that heroes of the morrow could come from even the lowest. Her uncle Prince Oberyn used to draw a different moral from that story however, that even princes could be killed.

“The guards told me I would find you here.” The king said to her, making her look at him. “What is it your grace? What has happened?” She asked him.

“Walk with me.” The king said, stepping to a side. Arianne fell in beside him, with Ser Duck following them. “There have been ravens.” Aegon told her, “One of them from your cousin Obara. She had to flee The Arbor.”

Arianne stopped walking and looked at him, fear clutching her heart. Dark wings dark words. “What happened? Is she okay?”

“If she is injured, she made no mention of it.” Aegon said, “She claims that one ‘Darkstar’ had infiltrated her men, and they almost exposed her plot of sinking Redwyn’s Fleet. She had to flee the island or risk letting Paxter Redwyn know that she was working for the Ironmen, and for me.” He turned to look at her, “Who is Darkstar?”

“He is a traitor she was hunting, before we called her away. He tried to kill Myrcella to begin a war between Dorne and King’s Landing after my uncle Oberyn died.” Arianne answered. Arianne had told her to go to Arbor with Euron Crow’s Eye however, and Darkstar had managed to survive. King’s Landing had wanted Ser Balon Swann to lead the army to the Arbor, but that wouldn’t have worked for what Aegon had planned. Ser Balon would have never worked with Euron Greyjoy. So Obara had made sure that in a sortie at High Hermitage, Ser Balon would be injured enough that he could no longer lead an army, much like what had happened to Lord Connington. But in this case, it were the men that Ser Balon had thought were on his own side wounded him, though he had no idea of it. But it seemed that Obara wasn’t the only one who could carry out deception. How could Darkstar’s men have gotten into her army? There was something very wrong here. Arianne could feel it. “Where is she now?” She asked Aegon. “What happened to the fleet? Is Euron Greyjoy still going to honor our agreement?”

Aegon answered her questions one by one. “Your cousin is at Starfall, as was planned. They could sink only half the fleet, and this has made Euron Greyjoy wroth. But he will still honor our agreement. She writes that they will be at Longtable when Lord Garlan descends upon us.”

Arianne nodded mutely. That was good. Aegon had come all the way to the west to trap Euron Greyjoy, and become a hero in the minds of the Reachmen. The Crow’s Eye had no idea that he was walking into a trap. He had written to Aegon, offering his loyalty for the seat of The Admiral of The Narrow Sea on the small council and the stewardship of the north, and a plan to defeat the Tyrells and take Highgarden and King’s Landing. His raven had been felled by Red Ronnet’s army however, when they had been advancing on Haystack Hall. It had been this offer that had convinced Red Ronnet to throw with his uncle.

But when he had presented the Crow’s Eye’s plans to his uncle, Lord Jon had almost chucked the proposal into the hearth. “Have you heard half the stories coming in from the Reach about the man?” He had asked his councilors, who had almost all been for the plan, “Have you heard how he raided Oldtown? The Ironmen are an enemy of the north and the reach alike, and Euron Crow’s Eye is infamous even in Essos. An alliance with this man will bring us naught but dishonor.” He had claimed. Arianne had not been there to see it, but she had the account from Aegon himself. The King was very proud of how he had changed this plan, to kill two birds in one stone. What the Crow’s Eye had been asking for was help in sinking Redwyn’s Fleet. He had assumed correctly that Dorne will declare for Aegon. Crow’s Eye wanted it done secretly, so that when the dornishmen would offer their troops to the Redwyns for opposing the Ironmen, King’s Landing will consent. He had been in luck, for Arianne had come to Storm’s End. Aegon had presented his plan to her. “The Crow’s Eye will go back to Dorne after sinking Redwyn’s fleet.” He told her, “And then enter the Reach through the Prince’s Pass, in secret.” It had been Greyjoy’s idea to have Aegon come to the Reach. He planned it so that Lord Garlan would turn his attention on Aegon. So while Ser Garlan, unable to catch the Ironmen, turn on Aegon, Euron will come north and ambush him, leaving Aegon with another valuable hostage from the Reach. He had the same idea as to what Red Ronnet had suggested, that while all this went on in the reach, the Dornish host in the Boneway could descend upon Red Keep and exact vengeance on the Lannisters. Arianne had been worried that if two men a thousand leagues apart from each could devise the same plan, maybe King’s Landing could figure it too. That was why they had spread the news that Aegon had died in the battle with Red Ronnet. So that King’s Landing would not worry about the Dornishmen.

The change in Crow’s Eye’s plan that Aegon had introduced was that instead of letting Euron Greyjoy take advantage of Lord Garlan’s ignorance, Aegon would tip Garlan Tyrell off about where the Ironmen were. That way, Lord Garlan would attack Euron instead of Aegon, and then his weakened army will be attacked by Aegon. “Two birds in one stone.” Aegon had smiled at her proudly when he had presented the plan. “It will get us half of lords of Highgarden as hostages, and the smallfolk will still thank us for saving them from the Ironmen.” It had been then that Arianne had decided to declare for Aegon.

Aegon had said that there had been two letters. She asked him what the second letter was about. “It was another one from Lord Varys. A long one.” Aegon told her, “He wrote about the tensions in the city, and the troubles in the north. But most importantly, he wrote that Lord Lancel Lannister, Tommen’s Regent, has left the city to rally Lord Tarly’s forces. I estimate he will be able to gather about four to five thousand, adding it to his own two thousand men. I want to meet him at Cider Hall, and not Longtable. We can tell Lady Obara our change of plans.”

Arianne inclined her head, “The king understands the battlefield better than I do. If you think that will be the better battleground, then it will be.” And if it isn’t, your councilors will dissuade you. Aegon listened to his council, that much was true.

“It will be.” Aegon said eagerly, “I don’t want to meet the Ironmen, Lord Garlan and Lord Lannister all at once. If we go to Longtable, that is what will happen. Lord Garlan has already left Highgarden. He has given up searching for Euron Greyjoy. But at Cider Hall, Ser Lancel will not reach us until after we are finished with Lord Garlan.”

“Unless Garlan decides to hang back to wait for Lord Lancel.”

“He has already left Highgarden. I just need to be close enough to him that I can attack him right after he attacks Euron. I can do that at Cider Hall.  Also, Cider hall is a stronger castle than Longtable, it will protect us better from the Lannisters after we have just seen battle.”

Arianne nodded. “As your grace says.” She was still thinking about Obara, and what had happened at the Arbor.

But Aegon wasn’t done with her. “There is another matter.” He said to Arianne. They had arrived back at the feast hall, where only a couple of stragglers and serving men had left. They all bowed to them and left when Aegon commanded them to leave. He led her to the dais and they took their old seats, side by side. “Lord Varys writes that the hostages from the Riverlands have been placed under Lady Nymeria’s care.” He said to her. “He has contacted her about helping them escape Red Keep and bringing them to Storm’s End, into our protection. But Lady Nymeria won’t act unless she gets explicit permission from you.”

As well she shouldn’t. Arianne’s eyes narrowed. “We will have King’s Landing itself soon. Why risk this escape mission which will most certainly tell the Tyrells the Dorne has declared for you? Nymeria is the influence we have on Tommen’s small council. It was because of her that we could get Obara to The Arbor. You want to remove that influence?”

“Getting the hostages into her care was the realization of that influence, Arianne.” He put his hand over hers, “I know what you are afraid of. You are afraid for your other cousin, Lady Tyene. You fear that the Tyrells might turn on her if they discover that Dorne is working with me.” Arianne pressed her lips together, so her anger wouldn’t show. Aegon continued, “If you want, I will command Lord Varys to spirit Lady Tyene along with the hostages.”

“But why? Why risk it?” Arianne asked.

“So that we have some leverage when we send an envoy to talk with Lord Harrold Hardying.” Aegon said.

Arianne was confused. Harrold Hardying was the new lord of the Vale, and he was heading toward Moat Cailin. Varys had men on his council, old friends in Lord Arryn’s household that had been passed onto the new lords. So Storm’s End had known about what was happening in the Riverlands even before King’s Landing did. “But he is heading north.” she said to Aegon, “To Winterfell.”

“No.” Aegon told her, “He has turned back. There is another army exiting the Vale, and Varys says he will be taking charge of that one. Where he means to lead it, we do not know. What we do know however, is that the army heading north contains Sansa Stark, the daughter of Ned Stark, and is placed under the command of Brynden Blackfish, both of whom have sworn to make Selyse in the north so powerful that I will be forced to take her daughter as my wife, or risk a war with the Riverlands, The Vale and the North.”

Arianne reeled under the barrage of the new information. It took her a minute to understand all that Aegon had told her. “But you can’t.” She said finally. “Because you mean to marry Daenerys.” If Quentyn hasn’t married her already. “What does she care about Selyse and her daughter?”

“Varys wrote about how she was when she was in a hostage at the Red Keep, Sansa Stark.” Aegon said, “He says that she is a gentle girl, kind and innocent. He believes that she wants to prevent a marriage between her brother and Selyse’s daughter, thereby keeping him out of the war. Lord Varys believes that Selyse will have Winterfell before Lady Stark can reach it. Roose Bolton is alone, and will be dead soon. And Selyse has two of Sansa Stark’s brothers with her. Ned Stark’s bastard who was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and one of his trueborn sons who was till now in hiding, rather like me, having faked his death. More than half the houses of the north have already joined her. Lady Stark must have foreseen this, or the Blackfish did, so they want to avoid a war with Selyse, that is why she is supporting Shireen’s claim. But this means that the north will not be like what we faced in the south. There will be no divide for us to take advantage of. The only weak link is Lord Harrold, who must have stayed in the south to negotiate with me.”

“Why is he a weak link?” Arianne asked.

“Lord Harrold called his banners to win Winterfell for Lady Sansa, and then make it his own by marrying her. But then he turned back at Moat Cailin when he heard that one of Lady Sansa’s legitimate brothers has come back from the dead. Winterfell can never be his, unless he decides to war upon the northmen. He has clearly decided against it. But you can be sure he is pining for the castle he lost.” Aegon leaned forward and looked Arianne in the eyes, “If we can offer him another match, maybe we can convince to let the northmen go altogether.”

It didn’t take long for Arianne to take his meaning. “You want to offer me to him.”

Aegon winced at her words, “I wouldn’t put it that way. I will never pressure you. It will be entirely your choice. I cannot force you to marry someone. But this match will bring the Vale for our cause. Hardying was going to be lord of two of the seven kingdoms, and we will be asking him to go back on his word to the northmen. He will not settle for anything lesser than this. And he is the lord of Eyrie, a worthy match for you.”

I will be the judge of that, Arianne thought. Aegon continued, “Take your time to decide. You can consult your father. If you want to know about the man himself, Red Ronnet once told me that Lord Harry once came down to the Reach with Ser Robar for a tourney. You can talk with him. We have time at least until we are done with Lord Garlan to come to a decision.”

Arianne nodded. “Won’t the north be angry with us if we snatch their deliverer from under them? I suppose you mean to try to convince Lady Sansa to give up her support for Selyse. If we take away Hardying from her, it might be easier, seeing as she has just lost one of her supporters. But she is also looking to escape her Lannister marriage through this match. And no matter how kind and gentle she is, I can’t see her lying down and taking our judgement. Remember, she killed her Joffrey and left her husband to die at Cersei’s hand to be rid of him.” Arianne paused to think, “But maybe if we offer to set aside the marriage, and find another match for her… A king can set aside a marriage, especially if it wasn’t consummated. And it is no secret that the imp’s wasn’t. If we offer…”

“We won’t be offering anything.” Aegon cut her off. “I am sorry, princess, but I cannot offer her to set the marriage aside. That is one of the reasons I want this contract between Hardying and her broken.”

“Whyever not?” Arianne asked curiously.

Aegon gave a sigh. “There is a debt.” He said softly. “She is Lord Tyrion’s wife. Tyrion saved my life when we were on the Rhyone. It was his idea, for me to come to Westeros, rather than go to my aunt as a beggar. But then he disappeared.” He shook his head confusedly, “Lord Connington believes he ran away, to hatch some Lannister plot. He says he was a Lannister and that we cannot trust him. But I don’t believe that. Wherever he is, he will come back. He must. And when he does, I mean to repay him for my saving my life and leading me here. And I won’t be repaying him by taking away his wife.”

Arianne stared at him. “Think of what you are saying, your grace. This innocent and gentle girl, you are making her stay married to a man, a dwarf, from the family that destroyed hers. She watched her father being executed by this man’s sister and nephew. Do you think she will agree to anything you offer in return?” Aegon frowned, “All this happened before I came here Arianne,” He said, “You cannot lay this at my feet. They all chose with whom to make their beds when they decided to unseat Aerys and kill my father. The Lannisters, The Starks, The Tyrells. The Tyrells fought for my grandfather, don’t you remember? And yet here I am, waging war against them, because of the choices they made after they bent the knee. It is not my fault that Lady Sansa ended up in Tyrion’s bed.”

“Lady Sansa has killed all the Freys.” Arianne reminded Aegon. “And she has brought the knights of the vale to free the north from the hated Boltons. You can be sure that the north loves her for the revenge that she has brought them. And riverlanders as well. They also lost many of their kin at the Red Wedding. If you insist on keeping the marriage between her and Tyrion Lannister intact, there is no way the north will bend the knee.”

“Then war is what we will have.” Aegon said in a tone of finality, “The knights of the Vale will be in their midst, and that will be to our advantage if we can turn Lord Harrold to our cause. I will try to prevent the war I assure you, seeing as she herself doesn’t want it. I will offer her as many Lannister heads as she requires, including Cersei’s, and any Freys that might still be alive. But she will be required to hand Selyse and Shireen over to me. I will try to make her see the benefits in her son becoming the Lord of Casterly Rock, and tell her that that is the only way there can be any peace between the Starks and the Lannisters. I will free her uncle and give him back Riverrun if he agrees to swear me fealty.” He stood up and spread his hands, “Make no mistake, my lady,” He said to Arianne, “I have no desire to wage war upon an ancient house that almost went extinct in the past few years, and a girl even younger than me who is trying to restore it. I can relate to her more than anyone in Westeros right now. The north has been war torn for the last two years, and I have no desire to prolong their suffering. I will make all offers I can to avoid war, but I will not let her escape her marriage, not unless Lord Tyrion gives me his consent. But we will have to wait for him to come back first. Until then, I will try to get her to see that she will be better off as the Lady of Casterly Rock, that the north is weak from all the defeats it has recently suffered, and cannot stand against the combined might of the Reach, Dorne and the Vale. If the gods gave her the sense they failed to give the Young Wolf, she will surrender Selyse and Shireen to me, and bend the knee.”

 


	27. The Girl of Many Faces

Merry’s brothel was not very busy this evening. “Winter.” Merry told Cat. “You’d think men would want a body beside them for the warmth. But they refuse to pay more for it.”

“Maybe you should lower the rates in the winter.” Cat advised, “Girls can use the warmth too.”

“My girls can warm each other.” Merry said. “And men don’t want to be seen coming out of brothels in the morning.” Yna added. She was brushing her own hair, boredom written all over her face. “Only Sailor’s Wife is having a customer right now.” She told Cat, “And he too wants her to come to the palace.”

“The palace?” Cat asked.

“Aye, the Sealord’s Palace.” Yna nodded. She yawned, “He is a guest of the Sealord. Some Westerosi lord. He spotted her while she with Lanna at the Happy Port looking for a mummer for one of her weddings.” She lowered her voice so Merry would not hear, “He wanted Lanna, but The Sailor’s wife told him she had crabs.”

“Does she? Lanna. Have crabs?” Cat asked, worried for the girl.

“No.” Yna said. “She lied. Maybe she didn’t want her daughter to go with such an old man. Or maybe she liked the look of him herself. She offered herself, and didn’t even ask him to wed her.”

The Sailor’s Wife came down just as they were speaking. “Cat!” She exclaimed, “It’s been so long since you last came.” She swooped down and hugged Cat, “What? No Oysters today?”

“I am done working for Brusco.” Cat of the Canals told her. “That is why I stopped coming. He was good, but I was sick of smelling like fish every night. I wash clothes now, at Kelaaqo’s house. Kelaaqo has gone to visit some cousin with his family though, so I was just roaming when I thought to come here.”

“A washerwomen?” Yna laughed, “With those chicken arms of yours?” But the Sailor’s Wife didn’t laugh, “One of the Sealord’s washerwomen has fallen sick. The one he gave to Ser Harys. He is not happy with the replacement.”

Cat knew that. “I could do it.” She said, her face lighting up. “I could use the money. I am good too. I can come with you right now.”

“You would do that? But right now? In the night?”

“Kelaaqo will return tomorrow. With all the stinky clothes from the journey. I won’t have time then.” Cat told her. “Besides, if I am not with you, the Sealord’s guards will never let me in.” That was the real reason she was here. But the whore didn’t need to know that.

Cat had been inside the Sealord’s palace before. When she was Terry. But now it was more difficult. The knights of the Sealord’s guest were on the alert because of some other knight from the wall who might try to kill him. But they will ignore a washerwomen. They always ignore washerwomen.

The oarsmen were leaving the Palace when they reached it. Cat saw Little Nerbo and smiled at him. He looked happy. He must have just gotten his wages. Better life than that of a cutpurse, Cat thought. The Sailor’s Wife led her inside. They ascended two spiraling staircases and reached the landing where the Westerosi were staying, and suddenly Arya stopped.

“I asked for a girl.” The guard at the door said to Sailor’s Wife, smiling. “This is a child.” It was Raff. Raff the Sweetling. What was he doing here.

The Sailor’s Wife took no note. “And she is not for you neither.” She flirted back, “First you show me some silver. Then we will talk. Come Cat.”

Calm as still water. Cat gave Raff a smile as she went in from the door he opened for her. He does not know me. Or Arya. Was this a gift from the god of many faces? Or was this a test? The Kindly Man had told her that this would be her last assignment. That after this, she would be given the robe of an acolyte. Did they know that Raff was here? Were they waiting to see what she would do? But how could they know that it was this Raff whose name she had once whispered in the black of the night. She had thought, when the Kindly Man told her about this assignment, that they wanted to see how she would treat a Westerosi man? She had not been so worried. Arya was done. And the Westerosi knight meant nothing to Cat. But Raff…

The Sailor’s Wife showed her the Washroom. From there, she took her to the knight’s bedchamber, “The guards will be back with m’lord soon. Take the clothes and go.” She said to Cat as she started to undo her robe. Underneeth she had a gown of Myrish lace embroidered with cloth of silver. “He gave it to me yesterday.” She told Cat, “Isn’t it pretty?”

Cat nodded. “What is he the lord of? From where?” She asked while collecting the discarded matrasses. “Oh, he is no lord. Not of a castle. He is a knight. But he is the Lord of Treasure on the Boy King’s council. And he likes me to call him m’lord.” The Sailor’s wife had been looking out of the door as she was talking. She never noticed Cat breaking the shutters.

Cat threw down the clothes in the washroom bar a shirt and left the room. Holding the shirt in front of her, she made a show of being in a hurry, as if delivering the shirt to someone. She reached the terrace without being questioned.

The terrace was quiet and deserted, just as she had hoped. She eased out of the shadows and walked to the edge. She could see the guards on the wallwalks, looking out to the city that spread out all around them. It was a beautiful sight. The lights twinkling in the sea of blackness on their islands. Closer to the palace, the last of the carts were being driven home and the city was gradually quietening. Getting sleepy under the canopy of stars. Cat looked up at the moon, and suddenly she was a wolf. Looking at the same moon but from so far away. She closed her eyes. If I kill Raff, I will be kicked out of the House of Black And White. I will have failed their test. Who did she have left beside the Many-Faced-God, though? She opened her eyes and saw her packmates running around her. I could live in the wild. Like that ghost at High Heart. People will offer me a song and a horn of ale for all the men I kill for them.

But was Raff the Sweetling really worth it? She took out her dagger and stared at its blade. The leaf shaped piece shone in the moonlight, reminding her of how the spear had flashed as it had torn Lommy Greenhand’s throat. But that was all she remembered. She couldn’t even recall what Lommy looked like. She had forgotten him just like she had Mycah. She had not killed Sandor Clegane, could she let Raff go as well?

She shook her head. The wolf was gone. Only the dagger remained. She looked back at the moon, and said a farewell.

When she dropped on to the window sill, she could hear the voice of the Sailor’s Wife coming through the window. And the groans and moans of Ser Harys Swyft. She looked about. No one was looking at her direction. It was not the best place to hide, but Cat was sure she could get away if an alarm was raised. She dropped her head and peeked inside.

Through the fluttering drapes, Cat saw that the Sailor’s Wife moving around the bed, massaging the old knight. The both of them were naked, and the Sailor’s Wife was listening to the knight moan about his life. “What will my daughter do now?” He said as the hands roamed on his back, “The poor girl lost a child last year. And now her husband…”

“We heard it was the Kingslayer that was dead.” The Sailor’s Wife said, “Begging mlord’s pardon.”

“Jaime? No. Jaime is alive. We hope.” He twisted, trying to ease the tension in his back. “If you ask me, it should have been him coming here. Who better than a Lannister to talk the matters of gold. The Imp would have been even better. But he became a traitor and ran.”

“We heard he killed his father.”

“Aye. He did. And Kevan too, if Tyrell can be believed.”

“But how could he stay hidden in your castle for so long?”

“The Red Keep is full of secret walks and chambers. The eunuch knew them all. If he is colluding with the Imp. Aaahhh… Yes, there.” He moaned, “But Tyrell can’t be belived. I think it was him that killed my goodson.” The knight grunted, “As for the Imp. I will wager all the money I have that he is with his wife. What kind of man sells his wife for a castle, I ask you?”

It seemed to be a strange sort of pillow talk. But Cat thought the Sailor’s Wife must be letting him vent. To relax his mind as well as his muscles. “How did he sell his wife?” She asked while pouring more oil onto her hands.

“He never consummated her marriage. And now he will probably set the marriage aside and marry the northern girl to Hardying for the promise of help in getting Casterley Rock. They have already conquered the Twins. And if they make common cause with this Aegon… Only yesterday I received the news that that Dornish bastard’s fled King’s Landing with our hostages from the riverlands.”

The knight lamented a lot more, and Cat listened until The Sailor’s Wife got bored and shed her gown. As the sounds of passion filled the room, Cat got up from the window and started climbing the rope to the terrace. She had clothes to wash after all.

The eastern clouds had started glowing when she got back to the Temple of the Many Faced God. The Kindly Man was waiting for her two others. One wore the face of a yound Ibbenese, while the other had a pockmarked, old face. “He has the money.” She told them, “He had brought it to pay the Iron Bank. But they are not accepting it. His sellswords are gone, that means he has stopped paying them. He is saving it all for us.”

“Is it his money?” The youth asked her, “Will the Iron Bank be after him if doesn’t pay.”

Cat shook her head. “It is the money of the King at King’s Landing. And the Iron Bank has already forsaken them for the boy’s uncle because they failed to pay on time.”

“He was here to make peace.” The pockmarked face said, “But they refused him. So now he wants to give us the money.” He turned to the other two. “It is not his money. It does not carry much worth for him. It will not be a payment that might be worth someone’s life.”

“But King’s Landing needs the money.” The youth said, “If he steals it, it might mean his head.”

The Kindly Man nodded, “So either he is taking the risk, or someone else is putting him up to this.” He turned to Cat, “Go to bed child. You must be awake to greet our friend when he comes to us in the evening. Valar Morgulis.”

“Valar Dohaeris.” Cat said and left them.

In the evening, she chose a pimply face with an overlarge nose. The Waif helped her put it on, though she did not need any help By now, she had mastered the art of concealing the faces up her sleeve and putting them up without much ado. Though she was not as good as Jaqen H’ghar had been. His old face had seemed to melt wherever he touched it and the new one had come as if from beneath. They hadn’t taught her how to do that yet. But they had been teaching her a lot. She knew how to fletch a face and preserve it. She knew how to do without it. Making disguises and using them. She was practicing how to change her voice with her face. She knew most of the poisons by now. And potions. How to make a man sleepy. How to make him angry or bitter or sad. Or an animal. She was practicing all this to do by hands and words alone as well. The Waif had once just said something and snapped her fingers and Cat had gone right to sleep. Soon, Cat would be able to do it as well.

Ser Harys Swyft came to them in the basement of the cloth shop where Terry once had stolen her robe from. There were five of the servants of the Many Faced Gathered there today, plus Brooke, the name the girl who had been Cat that morning had taken. Brooke didn’t even blink when the knight entered the room with Raff the Sweetling.

“You must understand…” Ser Harys said to them in a pleading voice. “We have no choice.” They were seated at a rectangular table. Ser Harys on one side with Raff the Sweetling standing behind him, and the five mane with fake faces facing him from the other side. Brooke and the Waif carried the wine and water, to fill the cups as needed.

“You always have a choice.” A man with a grave voice said, “You could choose to let him or her live.”

“She won’t let us live.” Ser Harys said, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. “If she joins her brother, and Selyse. I would never harm a child. But the Her Grace is right. We have no choice.” He sounded more and more like he was convincing himself. “And that was before the hostages escaped with Nymeria Sand. Aegon in the south could use them to forge an alliance with Selyse in the north. Best to cut the bridge that is about to connect them, Her Grace wrote. And she is right. Her death might prevent a lot of war.”

The Kindly Man nodded, “And what do you offer us in return. What do you think is the girl’s life is worth.”

“The girl’s life is worth all the lives that you will save by ending hers.” The knight’s voice grew stronger. “That girl has gone mad. She is sending heads on ravens. But as you want a physical payment as well, I have here” He nodded to Raff who proceeded to take out a parchment, “A list of properties that we can hand over to you. Properties and riches.” The list contained a lot of brothels, and a castle, Brooke saw as she poured wine in someone’s cup. In the other column, it named things that might be taken as the cargo of a rich ship returning from the fabled east. She might have read further, but she saw the Knight drain his cup as the men read his list. His goblet of wine was empty. She moved to fill it.

“I also with myself a hundred thousand dragons and stags.” The knight said, “They were meant for the Iron Bank and then for the sellswords. But I suppose Selyse will have them both.”

The blind man put down the list. “Say the name.” He said.

But Arya Stark stepped up to the knight just as he was about to open his mouth. A single gash across his throat was all it took. For good measure, she stabbed Raff the Sweetling as well. The swordsman fell before he could even draw his sword.

The dead knight might as well be sleeping the way he was dropped on the table, except for the blood dribbling from his throat on to the floor. Across from his, Arya heard the Kindly Man sigh. “He came here to reduce the number of the Stark Family. Instead he added one to it.”

Arya turned towards them, her dagger in her hand in case they tried to seize her. “She was my sister.”

“And she still is.” The Blind Man said, “We can see that. Not all are meant to walk the path of the Many Faced God.”

Arya accepted that. She remembered Jaqen H’ghar. He had been ready to kill himself if she refused to take back his name. That was the kind of devotion they were looking for. Just forgiving and forgetting old enemies was not enough. She felt foolish to think that that had been her assignment. They wanted to see if she could forsake her sister for the Many Faced God.

The night was her last in the House of Black and White. “Say whatever farewells you need to before the morning.” The Kindly Man told her, “If I were you child, I would visit the gods as well, and beg for wisdom.” They let her take whatever clothes she needed from the vaults, though Arya only took a few. Where she was planning to go, she would be needed to move quickly. The cook Umma, gave her food wrapped in a roll, but only nodded when Arya said goodbye.

She was done preparing an hour past midnight. With nothing to do, and no sleep in sight, Arya decided to do as the Kindly Man had suggested. She lit a candle and sauntered into the room with the pool. The room was black and deserted, and the candle only illuminated a few paces ahead of her, but that was more than enough for Arya. She could have traversed the hall with her eyes closed, as she had done sometime before.

Thirty gods stood along the walls. Arya walked past them, illuminating them one by one. The Horned God, The Lion of the Night, The Stranger, The Child. She remembered how she would pick up the dead from the floor at the feet of the gods. She remembered all the talks with the Kindly Man, lessons with the waif, and sleep in the lower levels uninterrupted by those who would kill her. Suddenly, the room felt as if it was shrinking, becoming smaller, and more and more comfortable. Suddenly Arya was desperately afraid, afraid of the unending outside that she had decided to enter again.

The next morning, she found the Waif and the Kindly Man waiting for her outside on the steps to the temple. She did not go to them though. First she went to the step she remembered, and lifted the loose stone. She had the dagger they had given to her. But she also had another blade that was her own. She took Needle from where she had hidden it. She went and stood before the priest and the waif. “I am sorry.” She said to them.

The kindly man smiled at her. “Do not be sorry child. Nor do you have to be ashamed. Not everyone can walk this path. That does not mean they are weak. The Many Faced God led you here, as he led the knight who brought you the news of your family as. It is only by his design that you are leaving. Do not be sorry.”

There was a lump in Arya throat. “Valar Morghulis.” she managed to say.

“Valar Dohaeris.” They both replied. Arya turned to go, but at the last moment she whirled around and hugged the Kindly Man. Her eyes stung as if she were a little girl. She could feel him smile as he patted her on the head.

There was a boat waiting for her, oars and all. The tears were still in her eyes as her two mentors shrank into the morning mist. When they were gone, Arya wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and took a few breaths of the cold morning air to calm her fluttering heart. Ahead of her, the mists swirled with the winds and gave way to the greenish waters of the canals. Looking at them though, Arya could not remember what she had been so afraid of last night. She was no longer the frightened girl who had wandered into Saltpans. The God of Many Faces had made her stronger, braver. She could go anywhere, do anything. She was the shadow in the nights, the breeze through the windows. She was the washerwomen, the maid, the blind girl. She was the dagger in the dark. It were others that should be afraid of her. The mountain was dead, but there were a few in her prayers that remained. Her father and brother and mother were dead, but Sansa and Jon and Rickon were alive. And so was Arya Stark.

With a new determination, she turned her rowboat toward Ragman’s Harbor. It was there that Selyse’s knight had taken residence, she knew. She did not mean to reveal herself to him, nor accompany him back to  the north. But she needed to warn him that the Sealord would be looking for him, that he will be the suspect in the killing of the guest from Tommen’s small council. As proof, she had taken the head of Harys Swyft with her. Maybe she will tell him to go to Norvos to find his sellswords. They were flocking there to put down a slave rebellion. But after that, Arya meant to find a ship to go south. Even though she was happy that her sister and brothers were alive, she had decided that Arya Stark would remain dead for a while. Sansa didn’t need any protection in the north, she had an entire army with her, and soon she would have Jon with her as well. And Arya had no intention of turning up in Winterfell only to be turned into a lady by Sansa. No, it was King’s Landing for her. Certain people in the Red Keep needed to be stopped from trying to kill her sister.

 


	28. Jon IV

Jon could not take his eyes off the king’s body. Stannis was in the same clothes that he had died in. In the same black armor that might have passed for that of a black brother’s. There was a chink in his breastplate where the arrow had gone through. His cloak was red from the blood. But elsewhere there were no signs of wounds. His face was pale as a corpse’s would be, but hadn’t rotten much. He seemed thinner to Jon. His eyes were sunken pools of darkness in his skull, and blue pupils stared out of them like stars, as unflinching as they had been in life. It reminded Jon uncomfortably of Jafer Flowers and Othor.

They were in the queen’s tent, with a few of her queen’s men. Melisandre was present, as was Shireen. The princess was half hidden behind her mother, clutching at her gown and looking at her father with big eyes, half afraid and half fascinated.

The king was here. The end of the march was here. Soon, my part here will be done as well. Stannis will awaken and make common cause with Lady Stoneheart and take Rickon under his wing. And then what will be my fate? Go back to the wall to be stabbed again? Like a foolish little boy, Jon Snow had been hoping that the march will never end.

“When do we wake him?” Ser Axell asked, “We must make haste. Roose Bolton will soon find out we have the body.” There was an intensity in his eyes that Jon did not like. Is he also wondering who we are going to burn?

It was true though, what he said. Too many men had deserted from Witnerfell for Jon to believe that Bolton hadn’t hidden some informants within them. Even ghost seemed to feel it. The wolf had grown restless of late, snapping to the wind without cause, growling while walking through the ranks. It reminded Jon of the day he had been stabbed. He was sure Bolton had men in the army. The worst of it was that he couldn’t trust his guards. The northmen and the southerners alike were too proud to take orders from a black bastard. While they were happy to let him lead the army, he was sure none of them liked the possibility of him surviving the battle. What if Stannis gave him Winterfell as thanks? None had lent him their men to protect him, except for a few that Melisandre herself had appointed. He avoided them if he could, but made sure to keep Ghost with him always.

But then again, why should Bolton care who has the body. He didn’t know Melisandre meant to wake Stannis. Bolton believed that the only reason Selyse was here to bury her husband right. Now, only three days from Winterfell, she could not run.

“Soon.” Melisandre said, running a hand over her king’s body. “When we have the kingslayer in our hands.” There was a smile on her face, a look that one might give a lover. “He would be the finest sacrifice for King Stannis.” She said, “It is in large part because of him that all these wars have happened.”

Ser Axell nodded. Ser Dorden frowned, “Kingslayer is in Winterfell, Brienne said.”

“So was Stannis. Yet here he lies, right in front of our eyes. R’hllor will deliver us our sacrifice as well. I have seen Ser Jaime kneeling in front of Ser Davos. In chains. We know that the bastard has turned back from the Dreadfort, and that Ser Davos is following him. We must wait for him.”

Jon nodded. Hopefully, till then Lady Stark will also have arrived, so that the Red Priestess could not use Rickon to wake Stannis. It was a terrible thought, and Jon could not say where it had come from. He didn’t like the look in the Red Women’s eyes as they swept over him, as if reading his thoughts. There is power in king’s blood, he remembered Maester Aemon saying. And Rickon was Robb’s brother…

Deciding that confronting her about it may not be a good idea, Jon asked instead, “How did they escape? Lady Brienne and the others?”

“There was another revolt in Winterfell when the Kingslayer led Brienne as his prisoner.” Ser Richard told him. Lady Brienne had been found by his scouts. “Your northmen got angry at the sight of a Lannister in their castle, and then the King’s body arrived. A few Manderleys and Locke’s that were still in the castle broke out, and took the wagon and Lady Brienne with them. Our scouts found them before the Boltons could catch up, and brought them here. She wants to speak with you.” He added, startling Jon. “She says she wants to tell you about Lady Stoneheart.”

By now the queen’s men knew who Lady Stoneheart was and how she had been revived. The fact that Thoros of Myr had revived Lord Beric many a time before had only encouraged them. “It is a testament,” Ser Axell had proclaimed, so proud that you’d think he himself had done the feat, “her coming here, that R’hllor wants us to continue our plan.” Selyse’s eyes had filled with tears at that, which Jon had thought strange. Even now, the queen almost seemed afraid to look at the king. As if her husband would get up at any time and start yelling at her.

Taking the queen’s leave, Jon went to the east camp to talk to Lady Brienne. She was given a place in Alysanne Mormont’s tent, who was already hosting Val. The She-Bear had met them with the thousand men she had promised, making their numbers go up to almost six thousand, more than double of what Roose Bolton now had behind the walls of Winterfell.

They were in the village that Stannis had died in. Had been for three days, waiting for Lord Reed and Sansa to join them. In her letter, Sansa had asked Jon to wait for her. _As much as I would like to be welcomed into Winterfell by you, I beg you to wait._ She had written, _I have ten thousand men with me, including my Great Uncle Brynden Blackfish who can lead the attack on Winterfell, so you won’t have to. I don’t want to risk losing another brother._ Her words still brought a smile to Jon’s lips whenever he remembered them, even though it was embarrassing to admit that it felt good to have someone worry about him.

The village still bore signs of battle. There were corpses under the snow, waiting to be robbed. The clansmen were reluctant to stay here, in light of what happened the last time they were here. But the longhall provided shelter for their animals, and the village had a watchtower, and it was sufficiently close to Winterfell. By now, Sansa had moved past Barrowton. The news from the south was that the knights of the Vale had stormed the castle and put all the people to the sword, for the crime of not abandoning Roose Bolton and declaring for Shireen when Sansa had warned them to. Even now, The Lady Barbray Dustin stayed at Winterfell, while the smallfolk of her town cheered the Stark banner that flew over the Barrow Hall. Soon, the same banners will flow on the walls of Winterfell, and a bigger army will be better guarantee of that. So Jon had made Selyse camp here, not that she was reluctant.

Alysanne Mormont met Jon with an expression that conveyed how much she hated serving under him. But she admitted him to her tent nonetheless. Inside, the Lady Brienne and the Wildling princess sat, the latter was examining the former’s shield. “I have never seen such beauty.” Val was cooing. The shield sported a shooting star above a lone tree, but Jon had seen much better paint, even at the wall. The two women stopped talking as Jon entered. The Maid of Tarth got up and went to her knees, while the wildling women watched on, grinning.

“Get up, my lady.” Jon said to Brienne, “Only black brothers kneel before me.” And maybe not even them now. “I was told you wanted to speak with me.”

“I do my lord.” Brienne said. She looked around, “Though I would like it if we could speak in private.”

Val snorted. “No one trusts the _wildlings_.” She said sarcastically, “But they will make them stay in their tents.” She got up to her feet. “Lord Crow? Why won’t the queen let me join Tormund’s camp? She has no use for me anymore. Or does she still mean to marry me to some kneeler?”

Val had been serving as one of queen’s lady companions on the march. Selyse had kept her close, planning to wed her to the next Lord of Winterfell. But then Rickon and Sansa had appeared, and her plan was no longer possible. She still kept her close though, she thought that she could control the fate of the wildlings through Val. Val had driven her mad with her insolence, however, and so when Alysanne Mormont had joined them, Selyse had given Val to her custody. From what Jon had seen, the two women got along like cats and dogs.

He apologized to Val, “I am sorry my lady, but I cannot make the queen do anything. It is her intention to give the free folk a castle or two in the north. You could very well be designated to be its lady.”

Val made a face. “More like the widow, if the husband is forced on me. Anyhow,” She shrugged, “you had best know that Tormund does not believe that. He thinks that you are going to cheat him of the promise of safe conduct once the battle of Winterfell is over. You need to do a better job of maintaining peace and stopping the fights.” Her tone was accusing.

Jon frowned and took her leave after promising her that he will try, though her snort told him that she did not believe him. The fights and brawls were worse than before. The increasing number of northmen in the army had not been good for the tension between the camps. The number of fights had increased as the northmen had begun to shout at the free folk how the Starks were coming back to send the wildlings back beyond the wall, or to their graves. It had only estranged Tormund more from Jon and Selyse. But it was only for a little while. Soon, Stannis will be awake and it will be his problem. And then I can go… somewhere.

Jon led Lady Brienne to the longhall. Ghost padded silently beside them. It had been a clear day, and now the stars had come out. All around them, the camp was finishing the last of their suppers. They were walking through the southron camp, which was between the lakes. The northmen were on east side and the wildlings were on the west. The night was cold and Jon had to clutch his furs tighter around himself. He could see that Lady Brienne was not accustomed to this kind of cold. But she suffered the winds with only a grim expression. She released a sigh of relief when they went inside the longhall. “We are using it as stables.” Jon told her, indicating at all the horses. “But there is a room in the back where we can talk.” He said, walking past the stablehands.

Inside the room, Jon lit a taper and set in on the table between them. The light danced across southron women’s features, her scars making her look like some monster of the dark. “What is a lady from Tarth doing in service of Lady Catelyn?” Jon asked her. As far as he knew. Stormlands had declared for Renly, and then Stannis. Never for Robb.

“We both were with Renly when he died.” Brienne told him. “Lady Catelyn convinced me that the two of us will be blamed for his death. She helped me escape. I swore her my sword.”

“Yet you did not die in the red wedding. Or did you?” Her scars did look fearsome. Death seemed to mean so little these days.

“I did not. Lady Catelyn sent me away before king Robb came back to Riverrun. To bring Sansa Stark back in exchange for the Kingslayer. But the girl had vanished from the city when we arrived. I spent the next few months looking for her in the riverlands, until my lady found me. Now I am here, helping her make an alliance with Stannis Baratheon.”

“Sansa is coming home.” Jon told her. “She has found herself an army, and avenged our brother Robb.”

“I know.” Brienne said. For some reason, she sounded troubled. “And Rickon is alive as well. I know my lady will be very happy to hear that. But,” She shook her head, “It does not change my mission.”

“What mission?”

“To tell you. To help you.” She said looking Jon in the eyes. “King Robb’s will never made it out of the marshes, until now. Your brother legitimized you before he died. He wanted you to leave the Night’s Watch, and become the King in the North.”

Jon stared at her dumbfounded. “He did what?”

“You heard me.” The maid of Tarth said to him, sitting back. “You are no longer a bastard, my lord. King Robb wanted you to follow him on his throne, should he die childless. And he did. Lady Catelyn sent me ahead so that we could kill Stannis, and clear the way for you.”

Jon was startled. “Kill Stannis… What the hell are you talking about?”

“Stannis will never let a bastard from the night’s watch become the lord of Winterfell. Much less King in the North.” Brienne said as if explaining things to a child. “If you want to be ascend to your father’s seat, he has to die.”

If only she knew what all Stannis had offered him. “I don’t want to ascend to my father’s seat.” He said angrily. “Rickon is alive. And even Bran maybe. Winterfell belongs to them. Lady Catelyn will never let me have it.” He did not know why he had said that last bit. For it did not matter…

“Not that father’s seat.” Brienne said. “No. There is something you should know as well, Lord Snow.” Her voice was getting lower and lower, as if she was afraid that the walls had grown ears. “When Lord Reed found out about King Robb legitimizing you, he told Lady Catelyn the truth about you mother. That was why Lady Catelyn sent me forward, to make sure Lord Reed could not oppose me killing Stannis and making you the north’s only choice. Lord Reed does not believe that you should ascend to any throne.”

What was going on here? “The truth about my mother?” He said asked, suddenly afraid. Jon remembered his father’s promise. ‘I will tell you about your mother when we next meet.’ But Lord Eddard never came back. “What does he know?” He asked, suddenly not wanting to know. “What did he tell?”

“He told her about the Tower of Joy.” Said the Maid of Tarth. “He told us how he found Lord Stark on his knees, weeping beside the corpse of his sister, a babe in his arms. He told us how he made Lord Reed promise that he would never tell another soul. Lord Stark told the world that you were his bastard so that Robert will not kill you like he killed Rhaegar’s other children.”

Her words crashed into Jon Snow like boulders. You know nothing... Eddard Stark was not his father? How was this possible? All his life… You know nothing Jon Snow. The women was mad. That had to be it. He was Eddard Stark’s bastard. Not his sister’s. Rhaegar Targaryen had killed Lyanna Stark. Raped her till she died… No that was not right, she died a few months after the last rape… He could feel the hair on Ghost’s back rise, his legs tensing as he sensed Jon’s turmoil. The southron women also sensed it, “You can have your father’s seat.” She said leaning forward, “Either one’s. Kill Stannis and marry Shireen, and proclaim yourself king of Westeros. Then you can even let Rickon Stark be the lord of Winterfell, and even let Lady Catelyn live. That was the reason I wanted to speak with you. To give her a chance.”

Jon was only half hearing, still trying to make sense of all he had heard, “Chance? Chance at what?”

“To reunit with her children. She is hell bent on revenge. She will not rest until all the Boltons are dead. But that may not be so easy. War is never easy, and Roose Bolton will not go down without a fight. That route at Winterfell was a ruse. The body is here because Lord Bolton wanted _me_ to be here. He sent me to offer you a deal. He will support you in your quest for the iron throne. You can leave the wall and take what is your right. All he asks for in return is Stannis’ head and a pardon for him. He will give back Winterfell to the Starks and go back to the Dreadfort, and you can march south after marrying Shireen, or stay in Winterfell and become the king in the north.”

The only thing Jon Snow could think of as a reply was, “You work for Roose Bolton?”

Brienne’s scarred face twisted. She got to her feet. “I work for myself. For all my life, I looked for masters to serve. To prove my loyalty and my chivalry as a true knight would. But all I ever got was contempt and scorn, and people that would use me without any regard for what I wanted. Lady Catelyn sent me here to kill Stannis, and maybe she won’t want me to anymore. But I am done caring for what other people want. The most I will do is to deliver Roose Bolton’s offer to you, for it might be the one thing that will save Lady Catelyn.” She pulled out her sword, making Ghost growl. But she only thumped it on the table in front of Jon, “I mean to kill Stannis with or without your help my lord.” She said, “I loved Renly, for he accepted me as I was. I would have spent my life being his guard. But then Stannis killed him. I am here to avenge my king. The only reason I am speaking to you is to give peace a chance.”

Jon’s head was spinning. It was too much. Too much. I am the watcher on the walls. Not a king. A bastard. Not a Stark… nor a Targaryen. He shook his head, trying to clear it. You know nothing Jon Snow. Outside a horse nickered, followed by more whinnying and some shouting. The stablehands... “Who is out there?” Jon asked Brienne. He was regretting not bringing any guards.

“Friends, we can hope.” She took the sword back in her hand, “Roose Bolton is in the wolfswood, inching up on your army. Ser Richard took too many scouts back to deliver the body, he has no idea of Bolton approaching. My friends will rouse the wildlings and together with Lord Bolton, we will destroy Selyse’s army. But before that, I will have an answer from you, my lord. Stannis’s body will be destroyed by the time the sun rises. Will you still be the bastard of Winterfell by then? Or the King in the North? Or will you be the bastard of the Dragon, and The King of the Seven Kingdoms?”

Jon stared at her. She was offering him all his dreams and more. His father’s hall, his name, and Robb’s legacy. All his dreams that he was ashamed of. But it was Robb’s own will. Would Robb still condone it, with the gift of hindsight? _Choose_ , he heard Maester Aemon’s voice, _and live with it the rest of your life._ It was as if he could hear the ravens as he was feeding them. He needn’t usurp Rickon’s place. He could ride south and Rickon will be the lord of Winterfell. Nor will he have to see Stannis burn his father’s gods. _Make a choice, and live with it for the rest of your life._ Robb’s face burst in his mind’s eye. A brown beard covered his jaw, and there was a crown on his head. A crown of pointed swords as the old King’s in the north had once worn. His brother regarded him with somber eyes, asking him to choose. Choose.

Jon stood up, “My sword belongs to the Night’s Watch.” He said. The wall will come down before he will pardon Roose Bolton for killing Robb.

Brienne kicked the table. It slammed into Jon and threw him on the floor. But Ghost bounded onto the falling table and leapt at Brienne. A shield came up in front his eyes and Ghost was thrown at the wall behind the women. When Jon opened his eyes, Brienne was standing on the edge of the table. She jumped down at him, her sword leading like a hundred rippling waves. Longclaw leapt up to meet it. Sparks flew as the two swords crashed. Brienne used Jon’s own blow to stand up straight. She backed up and slashed her sword through the air, keeping Ghost at bay.

Jon rolled and got slowly to his feet, a wary eye on the southron swordswomen. She reminded him of the spearwives from beyond the wall, but with a clearer speech and worse honor. He and ghost advanced on her at the same time.

Brienne let her armor take the blow from Longclaw as she bulled into Ghost, shield first. Ghost darted to the side in mid stride however, and Brienne lost her balance. Jon kicked her to the ground. Behind them, the doors crashed open. The scent of a boar filled the room. By the time Jon turned, the man was upon him. He put his hand on Jon’s neck and bulled into him, making both of them crash into the wall. The boar was on Ghost, the two of them fighting with claws and teeth and tusks. A knee found its way to Jon’s groin, making him bend over in pain. “Call of your wolf, Lord Snow.” Snarled a frighteningly familiar voice in his ear as they twisted his arm. “Or Borroq and Tarth will tear him to pieces.”

Jon let go of his sword. It clattered to the floor. His captor kicked it across the room. “Ghost!” Jon shouted as he went to him, “Stop.” He whispered. In front of him, the boar stood panting, with a man’s eyes in it’s face. It snorted ready to attack, hatred pouring out of the eyes of both the animal and the man alike. Jon Snow closed his eyes and opened them. Before him stood Mance Rayder, his dagger at Jon’s throat.

“What took you so long?” Brienne asked. She was being helped to her feet by a boy. The door was shut once again, and there were only four of them in the room, not counting the warg. The King-Beyond-the-Wall didn’t answer her. He looked at the boar, “We have the situation in hand. Go. Find Tormund and bring him here.” Jon sensed the warg vanish from inside the boar. “Your squire took too long to find me.” Mance told Brienne, still holding the dagger at Jon’s throat.

“You were not where you said you would be.” The boy complained. “I had gone to get help.” Mance said, nodding towards the Boar, “I told you not to take on the direwolf alone. It would have torn you throat out.”

“I could not be sure who was outside.” Brienne answered. “If it was you, or Selyse’s knights. And Snow had refused my offer.”

Mance grinned at Jon, “I told you he would. He is nothing if not honorable, our Lord Snow.”

“Once I would have said the same about you Mance,” Jon said, “When did you become Bolton’s bitch?”

Anger clouded the former black brother’s face. “I am no one’s bitch. Least of all your Melisandre’s.” He growled, “I am doing what is best for my people. You could help us. Selyse cares nothing about the free folk. I know you do.”

“Not more than I care about the northmen, turncloak.” Jon said.

“I am no turncloak. I am the King-Beyond-the-Wall. You are the one they call turncloak. Give them what they deserve. Help us kill Stannis and take your father’s seat.” Mance urged him.

Jon spat in his face.

The blow to his face slammed his skull into the wall. Brienne pulled Mance off before he could do more. “Stop it.” She told both of them. Jon felt ghost tense, readying himself for a leap. We could attack. I may reach my sword. “Let your friend come.” Brienne of Tarth said to Mance in a low voice. Jon hesitated. Nothing made sense to him right now. Maybe it would be best to wait. Nor was he anxious to pit Ghost against the boar.

Tormund burst through the door a short time later. Borroq was right on his heels. “What is happening here?” Tormund asked to no one in particular. He spotted Mance, and his face split into a grin. “Gods be good. It’s you.” The two men hugged, Tormund roaring with laughter, “Har! Run and tell the children. Mance is come.” He grinned as they broke apart.

“Not yet, my friend.” Mance clapped Tormund on his shoulder. “But soon.”

“How did you get out of that cursed cage?” Tormund asked him. He looked at Jon, “And what happened to Jon?”

“We had a little disagreement.” Mance said, “As for getting out of the cage, I confess, no heroism was involved. Roose Bolton freed me and offered me a deal. I thought it was our best option, so I agreed to cooperate.”

“Any deal you make with Roose Bolton will only end in blood.” Jon said, “Your blood. You do not know the man.”

“I know northmen.” Mance said. He turned back to Tormund, “You know them as well, Tormund Thunderfist. Snow, Stark, Bolton, all are the same to us. They are northmen who built the wall.”

Tormund looked from Jon to Mance, finally catching the tension in the room. “Jon let us through the wall, Mance.” He said quietly, “He is the reason our people are alive.”

“For the nonce.” Mance replied. “But what happens when you take Winterfell? When they don’t need you anymore. They already don’t really need you. How has the march been going, Tormund? Are the southron knights sharing their meat and mead with you? Are the northemen’s sons marrying our daughters? Roose Bolton has men inside the army, he told me about the brawls. The killings. Do you think waking Stannis will put a stop to that? Do you think Stannis will give you a castle and risk the wrath of the northmen?” Mance shook his head, “No he won’t. And even if he did, how long do you think the northmen will let you live after he has gone south?” When Tormund didn’t answer, Mance continued, “Bolton needs us, Selyse does not, that’s the simple truth of it. Almost all the houses of the north have turned against him, so he does not need to worry about losing any more of them by allying with us. And he will need us even after we defeat Stannis, to safeguard him against the other northmen. We can help each other survive.”

“The problem is still the same.” Tormund insisted, “For how long will we survive? Stannis will be dead. But the houses of the north will still be against us.”

“Not for long.” Mance promised, “Bolton means to sail against the ironmen after he defeats Rickon Stark. He means to make a deal with the ironborn princess that is in the north. She had to run from her home, and now she wants to go back. King’s Landing will support them, Jaime Lannister will make sure of that. Bolton means to promise the north revenge from what the ironmen did. They will lament about the Starks for a while, but then they will flock under Bolton’s banner. All we really need Tormund,” He said, “is time. Time to get stronger, to make alliances. Bolton can give us that. Not Stannis.”

A silence followed that. In the flickering light of the taper, Jon found himself holding his breath. But it went out of him when Tormund finally nodded. He looked at Jon defiantly, “What does Bolton propose?”

Mance smiled. “He hid me in the gaggle of those Manderleys so that I will not be found. I was to approach you in secret. We will now rouse our brothers and attack the northmen while they are asleep. Bolton will attack at first light. Then, when the harridan queen and her red witch are dead along with their king, and Brienne will make sure that they are, we will go and join Bolton’s son who is marching towards us. Davos Seaworth has started following Ramsay Bolton. We will attack him. We will have Rickon Stark as a hostage before Lady Catelyn or Sansa Stark reaches Winterfell.”

I need to do something. Jon thought. They are planning to kill my family. _They are not your family_. A voice whispered. Jon shook his head. In front of him, Tormund was saying something to Mance, but he could not hear it. _Ned Stark made you a bastard and sent you to the wall while his trueborn son became a king._ It sounded like a very old voice, coming to him through the past, _The Night’s Watch is a midden heap for all the misfits of the realm._ The only voice that had ever told him the truth. This was not right. He shook his head again, trying to forget the Imp. He had to…

“It does not have to be that way.” Brienne of Tarth interrupted his thoughts. She was looking at Jon with concern. “You could stop this, my lord.” She said and clutched at his arm. “Agree to what I said before. Become Jon Targaryen. Or even Jon Stark. Lord Bolton knows his plan is fraught with peril. The odds against him are too great, as great as the houses of the north. He knows that the northmen may succeed in punishing him for his crimes. But that judgement will come after the sword swings for your siblings. You could stop that sword. Grant Lord Bolton a pardon. It does not matter as long as your siblings are alive. I know Mance Rayder will follow you, rather than Bolton.”

Mance scowled at her. “Follow… is a wrong choice of word. Rather, I would trust Jon Snow over Roose Bolton. Aye.” He said, “Aye, any day.” He turned to Jon, his eyes still hard, “You are not my favorite person in this world, Jon Snow, but I cannot forget all that you have done for my people.” He paused for a bit, “I have no guarantee that Stannis will help my people afterwards, but I know you will. Bolton has no idea about what is coming from the north, but you do. My strength is not what it was beyond the wall,” He said bitterly, “and so I must choose an ally. If the choice is between Bolton, Baratheon, or you, I will choose you. You could save your brother, your step-mother, your sister.” Mance looked Jon in the eyes, “But don’t do it for them. Do it for your precious north. Unite it under yourself to defeat the Others. All you need to do for that is to kill Stannis and pardon Bolton. He will not stop his attack without you sealing your word.”

Still slumped against the wall, Jon again felt helpless against impossible choices. _Oh gods of my father, whoever you are, forgive me._ Through a rigid neck, he managed a nod.


	29. Brienne I

“The queen is not here.” The guards told them. “Her and Lady Melisandre went out an hour past. With Ser Axell and Ser Richard.” “And Suggs.” Another guard supplied.

Jon Snow looked at Brienne. She read the question plain on his face. What do we do now? “Might we wait on her grace?” She inquired of the guards. The sergeant shrugged and pointed them towards a table.

Brienne was almost relieved that Selyse was not here. It meant that they won’t have to kill her guards to get to her. She did not know if she had it in herself, to kill innocent guards only because they were doing their duty. Or maybe she did know, and did not want to admit to herself that she would kill them without hesitation. After all, she was about to kill Selyse, who had done nothing to either Brienne or Renly.

Jon Snow talked to the guards while Brienne waited. “She took Ser Richard and Ser Axell and Ser Clayton Suggs with them.” He told her when he sat at the table beside her, “And they took the king’s body with them.” The guards were giving her queer looks. While Brienne had gotten stared at all her life, this time it made her feel naked. As if they knew what she was here to do. Brienne tried to avoid their eyes. “Where could she have gone?” She asked Jon Snow, “It is the hour of the wolf. The world is sleeping.” “There is a window in the topmost floor.” Snow suggested, “Maybe we can spot them. A torch, mayhaps. A horse. A wagon.”

There were steps leading up along the wall. The guards let them up after confiscating their weapons. They made Lord Snow’s direwolf stay as well. Initially, the plan was that Snow and Brienne with the direwolf Ghost will overpower the guards and kill Selyse. It had been a dangerous and uncertain plan, but it had to be done since Bolton had wanted Selyse dead before he arrived. That was the only way he would believe Jon Snow had forsaken the Baratheons and their red witch.

Upstairs was much like the floor below, except there was a table laid here. Somehow, Brienne knew this was where King Stannis had been laid. She avoided looking at it. Otherwise the room was empty, except for a boy sleeping on a matrasses. “Stannis’ squire Daven.” Snow whispered to her. “He has been squiring for Melisandre recently. Why would she leave him behind?”

Maybe she didn’t want him to witness what she was about to do. Much like Brienne herself, who had made Podrick stay with Tormund the wildling. “I am your squire.” Pod had protested stubbornly, “I should go with you.” But Brienne had refrained. “What I am about to do is the worst of the treason, for Stannis is the true king.” She had told him, “And the vilest of the acts, for I am about to kill a mother and make her daughter an orphan. I will not let you be a part of this.” She had only left after Tormund had placed a hand on Podrick’s shoulder and promised he won’t let go. “Is it possible that she might know we were coming?” She asked Jon Snow.

“She sees things in her fire.” Jon Snow allowed as he led her on the topmost floor, “It may be that she saw us coming. Or Mance. Maybe she decided not to wait to wake Stannis.”

There was a window on the floor above just like Snow had said. It faced one of the lakes, the one dotted with islands. “There.” Jon Snow pointed. “On the largest isle.” There was a glow to the leaves of the trees, a fire was burning below it. “I told Melisandre to keep away from the old gods.” Jon Snow muttered. He looked at her. “We have to hurry.” Brienne was glad to back up from the window. For even though she couldn’t see its eyes, Brienne felt as if the weirwood was watching her through the dark night. Were there any gods who might condone her actions?

Downstairs, they told the guards they will come back later. The guards were grumbling about their sleep, but they gave the weapons back. Snow and Brienne made their way towards the lake quickly. The silence of the night seemed to Brienne filled with whispers, accusations and snarls. It was all Brienne could do not to start running.

They had not even made it to the lake when she spied a boy coming up to her. Brienne sighed. “I told you to stay with Tormund.” She said to Podric. Tormund must have let go.

“I am your squire.” Podrick said to her again. Oh, why must young boys be so stubborn? Didn’t he understand how ashamed of herself she was? “I have been in wars before.” Pod protested to her, “I have seen death before.”

Jon Snow cut in before she could scold him. “It is not like before, my lady.” He said to her, “We are out in the open here. Selyse and Melisandre have Horpe and Florent with them. They might raise an alarm. It might be better to keep your squire close, so you can run together.”

Pod was looking at her with big eyes. She sighed and nodded, “Be ready to draw your sword.” She told Podrick. She felt as if they would need their swords very soon.

Together they walked on the lake. The camp was asleep, but still a few eyes watched the four of them pass. One man, one boy, one women and one wolf walking on the ice floor. Snow was with them, so no one barred their way, but it felt to Brienne as if every eye on her knew her treason. Warrior make me brave, she said prayed. But it was the mother that came in front of her eyes. She was going to kill Selyse. What will happen to her daughter then? The maiden came before her. Brienne was still a maiden, but no maiden will ever do a thing like this. The Smith came before her, bearing a striking resemblance to Ser Jaime. Oathkeeper, she heard him say. What oath was she keeping here? She had almost forgot. She saw The Father, the scales in his hands tipping away from her. What would Selwyn Evenstar say if he saw her now? When the crone came before her, she saw that the lamp she carried was cold and black with charcoal. Every face of the god came before her mind’s eye as she tried to shake them off. Every face but the Warrior’s. His and that of the Stranger’s. But then again, maybe she was the stranger right now. Gods knew she felt nothing like a warrior.

The ice floor felt thin below her feet. She hoped she would not fall through. The maesters writing history a hundred years from now will find it amusing if that was how her treachery ended. There was a gentle wind in the air, and Brienne donned her helm to protect her ears. The lake looked ghostly this night. Mists rose from the ice floor and shone in the moon light, wisps of pale white air vanishing into nothingness. Just like my honor, Brienne thought.

Brienne shook her head. This was too much. I am doing the best I can. She did not have control over events that were happening out there. Mance Rayder would have roused the wildlings and Selyse’s army with or without Brienne’s assistance. Bolton would have captured Rickon Stark and used him as a shield against his mother and sister. But this way, Bolton will get his pardon and leave for the Dreadfort. Lady Catelyn may even prompt Jon Stark to become Jon Targaryen so that her son could become the lord of Winterfell. This way was much better... But then why did she feel so dirty? She wondered what the histories will say of her. The maid of Tarth turned a bastard to take his brother’s rightful seat. Pod was looking at her queerly. I might be betraying Lady Catelyn, but this is the best for her as well. She told herself. She took out her sword out of its scabbard and unslung her shield from her back, so they might give her confidence.

There was a fire on the island in front of them, and soon they could hear the nightfire roaring. Over it, a high thin voice sang in prayer. “Lord of light protect us.” It said. “Lead the unbelievers to the righteous path, and the believers to glory. For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

Snow had led them on the lake so that they could not see the people in front of the weirwood, or more importantly, they could not see them. The view was blocked by the conifers growing near the coast. The firelight washed on the leaves, and between them, Brienne saw more ravens then she had ever seen in her life. They sat on every branch, looking for all the world like leaves except for the firelight shining off of their feathers. Queerly, all were silent. What sorcery was going on here? Snow ignored them however, and crouched behind the bushes as they got to the island, Pod following. The direwolf crouched as well, never making a sound. When Brienne poked her head around the trunk of the tree she was hiding behind, her breath caught in her throat.

A fire pit had been dug in front of the tree with the human face. The pit had to be deeper than a man was tall, but the red and yellow fires still leapt out of it. Melisandre stood before it, a women in red with red eyes and red hair. At her throat, a ruby pulsed with light. It seemed as if she herself was on fire as she waltzed about the pit, her cloak trailing behind. Behind her was the king’s body, laid on a trestle table. Brienne recognized Ser Richard Horpe and Ser Axell Florent standing at their King’s feet. Ser Clayton was in front of the weirwood. But the thing that had her staring was in front of him. Princess Shireen was bound to the weirwood, right beside the face of the tree. There were logs placed at her feet, covered with straw and dead leaves. Before them, Queen Selyse was kneeling on the ground weeping as her daughter cried out to her. Cried out to her to help her, to free her, to not burn her.

“What madness is this?” Jon Snow said, sucking in a breath. Melisandre turned toward them, though there was no way she could have heard Snow over the roaring of the fire. “There is no need to hide.” She called out in a clear, high voice, “Come out Lord Snow. We are not angry. You haven’t done anything… yet. Come out, and bring the traitor with you.”

Snow looked at her. Brienne’s mouth was dry. She nodded at him and they made their way out from the bushes, their swords leading. Podrick and Ghost brought up the flanks.

They were all looking at them. Horpe and Suggs had their swords out. Florent’s face was taught with fury at the sight of Brienne. Melisandre was looking at Jon Snow with a hunger in her face. Even Shireen looked at them, pleading. Only Selyse remained on her knees, still weeping.

“You knew we were coming.” Brienne said. It was not a question, but Melisandre still nodded. “I saw Mance Rayder ride into the camp with you, with treason in his heart.”

“They why not capture him?” Snow asked, his voice harsh, “Why let him…” he did not finish.

“Turn you? Because I needed the Maid of Tarth to tell you the truth about your identity.” Melisandre smiled at him, “You would not have believed it coming from me.”

“How do you know about that?” Brienne demanded. As far as she knew, Lord Reed and Lady Catelyn alone knew the truth, along with herself.

“R’hllor tells me thing that I must know in order to save man’s world.” The red women said, “I saw the prince of dragonstone saying farewell to the girl he had abducted. The girl was big with the child that would grow up to be Jon Snow.”

Brienne saw Jon Snow’s hand clutch his sword tighter. “What does it matter?” He asked. “I don’t care who my mother was. Or my father. I am still a man of the Night’s Watch.”

The red women raised an eyebrow, “Even now? After you made the deal with the wildling king?”

“That was when I thought this army might be destroyed.” Snow snarled. “I feared for my… for Rickon. But if you knew about Mance, you must have warned them. Dorden and Penny and others.”

Melisandre smiled, “I confess that I did. Crowfood Umber was most pleased to know that he would get to kill Mance Rayder. Even now, I suspect the soldiers are ready. Ready to burst out of their tents and kill the treacherous wildlings. And when Roose Bolton comes with the dawn, he will find Stannis waiting for him with Lightbringer, ready to mate out justice.” She paused for a moment, “But it matters, as you well know, who your father was. For it makes you who you are. The prince that was promised.”

The phrase meant nothing to Brienne. But she could see the surprise on everyone’s face. Even the queen’s men turned to look at her. “Stannis is the prince that was promised.” Ser Axell said incredulously.

Melisandre moved around the fire pit, gazing into the heart of her god. “At the start I believed that. I believed that Azor Ahai and the Prince that was Promised were one and the same. But R’hllor guided me to the truth. I know why Rhaegar abducted Lyanna Stark at that tourney. The god helped him win the tourney so he could name Lyanna the queen of love and beauty and win her heart. But her honor came in the way and he had to abduct her. Once he had believed that he was the one the prophecies spoke of, but after studying an ancient scroll taken from a pirate ship, he believed his son Aegon to be the said prince. But he was wrong on both counts, as he realized at Harrenhal. He had come to set his kingdom to rights, but instead there he planted the seeds of its destruction. For he had found the answers to many of his questions. The Song of Ice and Fire meets in you, Lord Snow. You are the Prince that was Promised. You are destined to be Azor Ahai’s right hand. The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch who will lead Stannis’ armies against the others. Come here and fulfill your destiny, Jon Snow.” She said, her voice growing stronger and deeper, “Awaken your king, for the night is dark and full of terrors. But the dawn must come.”

Jon Snow did not move. He was staring at the Red Women, mirroring what Brienne thought were her own expressions. “You are mad.” She told the red women. “I know little and less about prophecies, but I know no father wants to come back from the dead if it means burning his daughter alive.” She could not take her eyes off of Shireen Baratheon. The little girl’s eyes were as big as the betrayal of her mother. At Brienne’s words, she started sobbing again.

Melisandre sighed. “Sacrifice, my lady of Tarth, is something someone like you could never understand. I know why you are here. To avenge the man you loved.” She looked up at the clear sky and raised her hands, “R’hllor gave man the ability to love so we could find some happiness in this vale of sorrow. But people like you, they define their lives by whom they love, and they fall into love with wrong things. A traitor king. A kingslayer. And then you lament to the gods when those you love get what they have sown. Rhaegar sacrificed his family, his kingdom, so that Jon Snow could be born, and the realm may have a savior. Ned Stark sacrificed his honor so that he may live. Now it is the Azor Ahai’s turn. But he will not be delivered to us without a price. And the price will be terrible. Things that you get for free have no value. No power. There is power in King’s blood, however. Power enough to wake one.”

“This is madness.” Brienne turned to Snow, who seemed frozen to the spot. “You can’t. She is just a girl, Snow. You can’t mean to.”

“Silence women.” Ser Axell advanced on her, his hand outstretched as if he meant to seize her. Brienne slashed her sword at him. A clang sounded as oathkeeper smashed into the armored hand. Ser Axell fell back, cradling his arm. But Suggs and Horpe came before him, their swords out. “Yield. And maybe we will let you live, traitor.” Horpe shouted.

“She is just a girl.” Brienne repeated cried at them weakly, “How could you be so monstrous?” She turned to Snow, “Jon, please…”

“You know what is coming, Lord Snow.” Melisandre cut Brienne off, “You have seen the true threat. It is not Bolton or Lannister that is the true enemy, but winter itself. This misguided women knows nothing about any of it. But you do. You know I am right. You know what must be done. The old gods are dying, it is time to let them go. Come here and burn the weirwood. Sacrifice the princess and the old gods for R’hllor. That is the only way.”

The sudden and short fight seemed to have brought Snow out of his trance. He looked at Brienne bewildered, but through the eye slit of his helm, Brienne thought she could see an uncertainty in his eyes. Even before she knew what was happening, her sword arm flew towards him. The blade of the Oathkeeper caught Jon Snow full on his face. She didn’t even see him go down, so fast was Suggs on her.

“You cannot stop this.” She heard the red women say as her sword clashed with that of Clayton Suggs, “I have seen Azor Ahai arise from the flames. With Lightbringer burning in his hands.” Ser Richard went past her sword in hand, and too late she remembered Podrick. “The night is tonight.” She heard Melisandre say, “The flames do not lie.”

Brienne bulled hard into Suggs, taking him by surprise and pushed him towards the fire pit. She whirled just in time to see Horpe swing at Pod. Pod was standing over an unconscious Jon Snow beside the direwolf. He pulled his sword up in time, but the force knocked him across the ground and sent him stumbling. Screaming, Brienne charged at Horpe. He parried a cut from and let Brienne’s momentum take her forward. His return slash made a clang on the armor of her back. When she turned back to face him, Ser Axell and Ser Clayton had joined him.

She could hear Shireen screaming. Screaming for her mother. She could hear the ravens on the trees qorking and flapping. Jon Snow’s direwolf was standing over his body, growling as if daring them to approach. Melisandre was singing to the heaves in some queer language. But Brienne’s world only contained the three men before her. Suggs and Horpe and Ser Axell had her surrounded. They spun about her, their swords flashing in the firelight as if on fire themselves. For every stroke Brienne gave, she received two in return. Her shield arm was growing numb from the battering she was receiving, and she could feel dents appearing in her armor. She tried to break free of their ring. To go to Shireen and free her. But they were everywhere, and their swords formed a lethal pointy cage around her. Suddenly, a well of pain opened in her arm as Ser Clayton’s sword bit through the steel of her armor. She could hear Suggs laugh. “Yield.” Ser Richard shouted once again, “If you don’t want to die.” “Or don’t.” Suggs said, “If you want to meet your precious Renly.”

Renly’s name gave made Brienne’s sight go red. Ser Axell was in front of her. Behind him, she could see the body of Stannis Baratheon, laid out as if sleeping, waiting for someone to wake him. With a flurry of blows, she drove Ser Axell back. His two companions ran behind them to save him, but Brienne ducked under their blades to get to the table. She lifted her sword…

…and Clayton Suggs jumped on her. Together they fell near the lip of the pit. The ground smashed the breath out of her. When she tried to throw Suggs off, he slammed his dirk into the opening of her armor. Brienne screamed. In desperation kicked his groin, causing him to roll away. Her arm was ablaze from the pain. She tried to ignore it, but when she tried to get up, a kick on her back sent her crashing into the ground again. She rolled over. Ser Axell and Ser Richard were standing over her. The firelight glinted off their helms to make them look like demons right out of the stories of her childhood. They made her feel like a little girl again, as afraid and helpless as Shireen. The pit was right behind her, and her foes in the front. One kick from them and she would tumble over. The wound on her hand pained so terribly as if there was still a knife tearing through it. Brienne could not gather the strength to get up. She could see her panted breaths misting the air, rising from her mouth as she fought to catch her breath and forget her pain. But what was the point? It was as if the weight of her entire life was on settling on her. Renly and the roses. Timeon and his kisses. Jaime with his stump and Lady Catelyn with her terrible eyes. The face of the warrior swam up to her, and she knew why it hadn’t before. It was not because she was no warrior. But because there was no warrior. There were only demons who wanted to kill little girls. “Get ready to die bitch.” Ser Axell said to her, and she did.

A shriek rose from the trees around them. A single shriek made of thousand individual ones. The sound was so big that the knights let go of their swords and fell to their knees, clutching their heads to block the sounds. Brienne mirrored them, feeling as if her ears might burst. It were the ravens. The ravens on the trees were shrieking all at once. Selyse had taken up a torch, and had been trying to set the tree afire. But she dropped the torch when the ravens started screaming. Only Melisandre didn’t move. She regarded black birds all around her. “I can feel you in your servants.” She said in a loud voice that cut through the clamor. “I can feel you talking to Jon Snow. Nothing you can say will turn him. I know you have his brother imprisoned. Snow will never work for you as long as you have the boy. Stannis will send you back to the hell you came from.” The ravens subsided as she looked down at Brienne. “Sers,” She called, “Save your king.”

But the respite had been all that she needed. There may not be a warrior, but there was her. Brienne picked up her sword, just as the knights got to their feet. She could see Podrick come up behind them. She met their charge headlong just as her squire slammed his sword into Ser Richard’s knee. Brienne broke free of their ring. She turned and brought the sword down at Ser Clayton’s helm, who had joined the other two. The knight got his sword up and supported it on his shield. She kicked him in the stomach, sending him down into the fire pit.

The next thing she knew, a sword slammed into her temple. The helm saved her, but her head was left ringing. She tried to look up, but the helm was skewed. Stumbling on the rocky ground and trying to right the visor, it was as if she could only see momentary flashes of the outside world. She saw Melisandre walking over to Jon Snow and his direwolf. She heard Ser Clayton’s screams coming from the fire pit. She saw Selyse hugging her daughter. The queen was still crying, but still wasn’t freeing her daughter. She saw Pod trying to match blows with Ser Axell. There was blood dripping from the boy’s armor. She tried to go to him, But Ser Richard came up from her side. His sword slammed into her breastplate. A crack reverberated through her body. The armor didn’t give, but she was sure somewhere inside there was a broken rib. She desperately raised her sword, knowing her angle was wrong and she would never block what would be Ser Richard’s last blow.

It never came. Brienne looked up to see the two knights being mobbed by scores of ravens. The birds flew around them, flapping over their heads. Some were getting in the path of their swords, but most were hitting them, blinding them, buffeting them over the heads. The two knights looked like two giant buzzing beehives. Brienne didn’t stop to think. She rose and put Oathkeeper through the gap below Ser Richard’s breastplate. The chainmail parted under the Valyrian steel. She could feel the blood flowing down into her mailed hand.

Suddenly the ravens all caught fire. Their shrieks sounded in her ears as if a thousand children were being burned. Brienne gasped at the sudden warmth and stumbled back. Pod was screaming on the ground somewhere. The ravens flew off, taking to the air as if trying to outrun the flames. But one by one they fell, charred to the bone. Brienne looked to the red women with horror. She was looking at the Weirwood with smoldering eyes. She turned her gaze towards Brienne, “Stannis should have killed you along with Renly.” She said. She reached up to as if calling to the cloudless sky, and lightening seared across the clear dark abyss. For a moment the world stopped in a flash of white, and Brienne could see the whitish blue bolt coming towards her.

Something slammed into her and knocked her to the ground. Ghost, Jon Snow’s direwolf lay where she had just been standing. There was a burn mark on his white fur where the lightning bolt had hit it. The wolf had saved her.

There were sounds of battle coming from across the lake, she noted faintly. All of her left side was throbbing with pain. Her arm was bloody from the wound, and her feet was slippery with blood. But Brienne ignored the pain. Ser Axell was still standing. She got to her feet to look at the older warrior, wondering if he had the sense to yield. He was no match for her, even if she were wounded.

Ser Axell advanced on her, raising his sword and shouting the name of his king. Stannis’ name fanned her fury. She moved forward to meet his attack, and drove him back across the clearing towards Selyse. She heard another thunderous crack, and the world was bathed in white again. But this time Brienne was ready. She jumped aside, throwing herself on the ground. The lightning struck the ground, the sound of the cleaving stone reverberating across the island.

Selyse had again taken up the torch and was again trying to burn the tree. The logs at Shireen’s feet were already burned, but the tree itself would not catch. Pod was still on the ground, unable to get up.  Brienne had to end this soon. She got up again, taking up her shield and sword. And when Ser Axell advanced on her again, she feinted downwards and spun past him. Her feet brought her in front of the queen, startling the Queen. One clean stroke, and Brienne took off the hand that held the torch. Another, and the women’s head was spinning through the air, spewing blood. This time when she heard the crack of lightning, Brienne had no time to move.

She brought her shield up, but the impact threw her off her feet. She slammed into the weirwood and slid down beside Shireen. The wind was knocked out of her. Taking sharp, short breaths, Brienne fought against the darkness in her eyes. Her shield was in splinters, but when she tried to raise it, a violet shiver took her. It was as if the lightning was still inside her. She could feel her shield arm burning, the wounds screaming. She looked up to see Melisandre approaching, while she could do nothing by shiver.

The red women’s cloak was afire. “I guess I must do it myself.” She said as Shireen started screaming and pleading with her. “I am sorry princess. Do you not want your father to be alive again?” Melisandre asked the crying girl. She held out her hands. A fire started at her hands and raced up along her sleeves, never harming the witch herself. The Red Women stepped up to the tree and put her hands on the trunk. With a great whoosh, the leaves above them caught fire.

Brienne tried to raise her arm. But it was no use. It was as if her whole body had gone stiff with pain. Her sword lay ten feet away. And she could not form a grip on her dirk. She heard branches snapping above them as they started burning. Shireen was screaming. There was smoke in the air. Brienne blinked trying to see what was moving across the pit. The tears cleared her eyes, and she saw Ser Axell falling into the pit.

Jon Snow stood behind him, his sword naked and bloody in his hand. Melisandre whirled around as he approached the table beside the fire pit, on which the king’s body was laid. “Don’t.” Melisandre shouted with sudden dread in her voice. “You have been talking to the Other, I know. He has your brother Brandon captive. I could show you where he is.”

Jon Snow laid his foot on the edge of the table. “You are wrong. I was talking to Bran. He is not a captive.” He pushed the table with his foot, “You are wrong about a lot of things.” The table appended, and Melisandre screamed as the body of Stannis Baratheon, the first of his name, slid into his funeral pyre.

Worldlessly, Snow made his way around the fire pit. He slashed at the ropes that bound Shireen and caught the girl as she fell. Shireen ran out of Brienne’s sight sobbing and coughing in the smoke. Jon Snow took hold of Brienne’s arms and dragged her away from the burning weirwood. Brienne groaned as her body was stretched. The sound of the battle across the islands was a cacophony now, but still Brienne heard the defeated witch whisper, “You have doomed us all, Jon Snow. Do you know what you have done?” She was looking at the ground, looking at her burning hands as if wondering to herself what she was to do with them now! “You have doomed this world.”

“Maybe so.” Jon set Brienne down against Shireen and walked over to Melisandre. “But I don’t think Stannis will be truly angry with me. There is no meaning to life if we kill the children.” He put a hand on Melisandre’s shoulder, and thrust his sword through her belly right to the hilt, the tip emerging from her back dripping blood. Melisandre offered no resistance. Neither a protest nor a gasp. But the ruby on her throat seemed to burn as bright as the sun… until it burst. Neither Snow nor Melisandre took any note of it. If the Red Women felt any pain, she did not show it.

But then her eyes grew huge as Lord Snow withdrew his sword from her body. It was as if a star was emerging from her belly. The sword coming out of her bloody stomach was glowing like the sun. Brienne heard Jon Snow gasp at the sight of it. Once completely out of Melisandre of Asshai, the sword, still dripping smoking blood, started burning, the flames starting at the tip and running toward the hilt. Brienne absurdly thought that Snow was going to drop it.

But he didn’t. He held it up, looking at it wondrously, looking at the flames rising in the air, burning on the blood of the Red Woman. Lightbringer, Brienne thought, getting up on one arm with difficulty. The night is tonight, Melisandre of Asshai had said.

In the night the burning sword made the light from the firepit look pale. Melisandre’s shocked gaze was ghostly as it swept over the scene in front of her. She looked back and forth from the sword to the man who was holding, her mouth moving wordlessly, all the while taking unsteady steps backward… Until she reached the lip of the firepit. She stumbled back into the pit, falling wordlessly onto her dead king. The fires swelled as she went down, and suddenly there was an explosion. A wall of fire expanded in all direction. And when it swept over Brienne, everything went black.


	30. Margaery III

Margaery watched as the gates opened. Her trepidation grew as a dozen mounts made their way inside. Gold Cloaks and Tyrell men both. A women lay strung between two of the horses in the middle, her feet dragging on the ground as the horses trotted forward. She had clearly been beaten up, and was unconscious. But hough dusty and bloody, Margaery could still recognize Tyene Sand.

“Take her to the dungeons and throw her in a black cell.” Her brother’s command came from the helmet of the man leading the gold cloaks. He trotted up to her and dismounted as the captive was led off. Loras had regained most of his strength in the last few days. His anger drove him. Anger at the capture of Lord Mace Tyrell, their father. Anger at the murder of Lady Leonette and that of her unborn child’s. Anger at the army that was advancing at King’s Landing. He had been practicing in the yard again as well, Ser Horas had told her enthusiastically about how fast her brother was recapturing his skills. And whatever the reasons for the recovery, every time Margaery saw him in armor was a moment of pride for Margaery, as it was now. For that time at least it would seem like he was the old Loras. Her fair brother who never had anything but kind words for her. For a while he was Loras that the maids across the seven kingdoms dreamed of while in bed. He was her brother who always had a smile for her. But then he took off his helm, and she was rudely yanked back to the harsh reality.

“Where did you find her?” She asked him, trying as always not to stare at his face for too long.

“She was trying to find our Ser Bronn.” Loras said, with an anger in his eyes that was still as alien to her as his scarred skin. “When the Stokeworth swords arrived in the city, I had told Kyle to seek the dornishwomen out and tell her that Bronn wanted an audience with her. She fell for the trap, as I knew she would, the treacherous bitch!”

“Kyle-?” Margaery asked, trying to remember, “Ser Mark’s friend?”

“Aye. It was a good idea to have him take the vows of the Swords.” Loras said with a smile. Margaery nodded, though she was not so sure. “Why did you arrest her like that Loras?” She asked him, “Did you have to beat her?”

Her brother’s face soured, “She stabbed Puke through the eye. Her lackeys drew their weapons. I lost two gold cloaks to them, but in the end we killed them all. With her, I suppose we didn’t have to go so far, but I will not claim that didn’t enjoy seeing her get what’s hers.”

“Were there any witnesses?” Margaery demanded, “Did you take off your helm?”

Loras’ face grew grim. She saw no remorse in his face. No regret. “Damn it Loras.” She strode forward gripped his arm, “You heard what Qyburn said. Abot what the smallfolk say about you. They call you the new monster of the Red Keep. Come here to replace the imp. Seeing you beat up a women in the street will only give it credence. A women of the faith at that.” Tyene Sand was famous from the markets of the Cobbler’s Squares to the Silk Streets and from the Flea Bottom to the Guild of the Alchemists.

“She is a traitor.” Loras said, freeing his hand from hers as stepping away. “The city needs to know what happens to traitors. And as for Qyburn’s reports, I don’t care what people say. I didn’t care how I looked before, and I still don’t. I got these scars in battle. I am not ashamed of them. But if you are, you could command me to never take my helm off. Maybe that way you could look at me while talking to me.” He turned on his feet and strode away angrily.

Margaery watched him go. She wanted to call him back. She wanted to tell him she still loved him as she always had. She wanted to tell him that it was going to be okay, even more than she wanted to hear it from his lips herself. But she found she didn’t have the energy. She was too weary to face her brother’s sullen anger. Ever since the news had come from Storm’s End of the Dornish army descending from the Boneway with Lord Yronwood at its head, her brother had become harder and harder to talk to. What with tolerating Ser Bronn’s daily insolence and the ignoring the actions of the High Sparrow that even Margaery wasn’t sure were not treasonous, her brother’s temper was almost always at the breaking point.

She suddenly felt very cold. And alone. She wrapped her arms about herself and set off for Maegor’s Holdfast. Above her, the dark sky had begun to get lighter. But she could see that it won’t get much lighter. There were still clouds in the sky. And the snowflakes still swirled in the air. Had she been in Highgarden, it would have looked enchanting to her. She could remembered a winter in her childhood, and it had been one of the most happiest and exciting times of her life. The entire castle covered in the white. The shining snowflakes descending upon the placid Mander. The green briar maze that surrounded Highgarden’s middle walls had turned completely white, and the Little Margaery had thought she had woken in another world. But here in the Red Keep, all she felt was cold.

Back in her chambers, Margaery found Tommen gone. Her cousins told her that when he had woken up to find her gone, he had gone to break his fast with his mother. That was all Margaery needed, for Cersei to gain opportunity to turn Tommen against her. The women was kept prisoner in her chambers, guarded by holy septas and Tyrell knights, and her own white knight. But it still wasn’t enough to contain her, for neither Margaery nor Loras could prevent Tommen or Myrcella from visiting her. The disappearance of the hostages and Nymeria Sand had only given Cersei another reason to blame the Tyrells for all the woes of the kingdom. What really irked Margaery was that this time, Cersei had a valid reason! It had been Margaery’s decision to root the hostages from their chambers and give them to Nymeria Sand’s care. How could she have been so naïve as to trust a dornishwomen? What would her grandmother say when she hears of this? For a moment, Margaery wished she had been with Loras in Flea Bottom to witness the arrest of Nymeria Sand’s sister.

Margaery broke her fast with her cousins. It was a subdued affair. Elinor was glum because her squire had ridden south was Ser Loras. Ser Tallad had gone as well, but Margaery didn’t think that was the reason Alla was so quiet. It was what was happening outside the Red Keep that was frightening the girl. Their defense rested on only four thousand men, out of which fifteen hundred were being commanded by a former sellsword. And then there was the mob. Everyday there seemed to be a new mob outside the castle walls, chanting for justice, money, or simply bread. The Tyrells had drawn the ire of the smallfolk when Loras had ordered the newly built port and the market beside the King’s Gate torn down. They had had no choice, not with another army marching down the Kingsroad towards them. Qyburn had reported that Jon Connington even had ships. Gift from some magister from Pentos. Margaery couldn’t for her life figure out what a magister of Pentos would have against the Tyrells in King’s Landing, but everytime she thought about how little friends the Tyrells really had compared to how many enemies there were, it almost made her cry. But none of it mattered to the smallfolk. And then there were those in the city that inflamed them against Tommen and his reign. Their preaching had lessened after the High Septon made it clear to all his followers that Tommen was the king in the eyes of gods. But when the news of Lord Tarly’s defeat and the execution of the Freys spread in the city, they gained a new voice. “All the vile servants of these monsters are being struck down one by one by the gods, old and new alike,” They shouted in the markets and the squares, “Now is the time to cleanse yourself, if you do not want to descend into the seven hells with them.”

It had been the same the last time, Margaery had heard. When Stannis was marching onto King’s Landing. At that time, the famine was worse than it was now, for her own father had closed the Rose Road against any trade. But even though the conditions were not as bad as the last time, the smallfolk were angrier. It was because of the sparrows, Loras claimed. Most of the sparrows that had poured into the city after the High Septon had called them were the ones who had lost their homes in the war. They had seen their homes destroyed, their farms burned, their families being trampled under the hooves of the high lords as they played their games of thrones. They had come to King’s Landing with what little had remained to them in the world, only to find that another war was looming upon them. Margaery could understand why they were angry at the Tyrells they had loved so much only a few moon turns back. It made her sad and frustrated her at the same time.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Ser Hugh and Ser Horas strode into the dining room. “Your Grace, we are sorry to disturb you.” Ser Hugh said, “But the High Septon is in the throne room, asking for an audience.”

Margaery got up from the table. Leaving her broth and cousins behind, she led the two men outside. “Why have you come to me? Go to Loras.”

“I was with him.” Horas said to her, “Helping him question the bastard. Loras sent me to tell the High Sparrow that she won’t be released. But the High Septon says that it should be him questioning her, as he is now our justiciar.”

“Loras is questioning her herself?” Margaery asked, aghast. It was a chore for gaolers. Not for the kingsguard!

But Horas nodded, “She is singing many a songs your grace. About Aegon. About Martell’s own daughter. About her sister’s treachery at the Arbor. She is a tough little thing, but after four nails, she couldn’t take it.”

“Redwyn!” Ser Hugh exclaimed, while Margaery cringed, feeling ill. “Beg pardons your grace.” Horas said, bowing slightly, “I just…” He made a fist, “She hid the ironmen in her camps. Obara Sand. Half of my father’s fleet is gone, and now the Ironmen are raiding as far as Highgarden.”

Betrayal upon betrayal. Did these Dornishmen have any bone of honor in their bodies? How many camps had these snakes slithered into? Margaery’s mother Lady Alerei had written to her about these raids. Willas had thrown them back two times, but the Ironmen seemed not to be afraid at all. They kept coming from the Shields, again and again. All along the coast of the Mander were burned farms and uprooted town. “Let him question her then. Tell Loras to make her repeat it all to him, show him the treachery of the Dornish.”

Horas shook his head. “She had some tales about the High Septon as well, Your Grace.” He looked at her meaningfully, “The High Septon doesn’t want to question her, I assure you. He will only try to find a way to proclaim her innocent, put all the blame on her sister and cousin and uncle. Loras will never allow him near her. It might even come to blood. And already the mobs have gathered outside, calling for their Lady Tyene. Should they find out something has happened to His High Holiness…”

Margaery bit her lip. She knew how stubborn her brother was. And how he hated the high sparrow who had tried his sister for fornication and treason. If he says the High Septon won’t enter the dungeons, he won’t. And he was probably right. She wished that Ser Lancel was here. He could calm the High Sparrow. He was on good terms with the High Sparrow, and even the mob liked him, or at least didn’t hate him. He would know what to do. He could find a way. He always found a way.

Ser Horas and Ser Hugh were still watching her. It made Margaery blush, their gaze upon her, while she was thinking of a Lannister. What would her grandmother say, she thought, if she found her granddaughter wishing for help from a Lannister.  She could almost hear the Lady of Thorns, “I don’t put up with creaky joints and a sore back just to see my blood stooping to this.” Lannister wasn’t here. And Loars couldn’t help. Won’t help. He was the one torturing Sand, and the High Septon won’t look favorably upon any propositions he made. She realized why Horas and Ser Hugh had come to her. “Tell me everything she has said.” She said to them, steeling herself. She was the granddaughter of the Queen of Thorns, and the queen of the realm. She couldn’t fear starving old men, “The High Sparrow will wait my pleasure.”

The High Septon did wait. Margaery dressed herself as befits a queen in a green dress with ivory roses on the bodice. She donned her slim golden crown, so the old man will not forget who she was. No, that wasn’t true. It was so that she didn’t forget who she was. Her cousins helped her dress, having left their food on the table like hers. “Should we come as well?” Alla asked her in a timid voice. Margaery could see the notion worried her. The High Septon still frightened her. She did not see any reason why she had to worry her even more by bringing her with her. She went to face the old man alone.

She found him in front of the Iron Throne, gazing at the iron monstrosity in front of them. She was surprised she didn’t find him in the sept, on his knees as was his favorite position. She ordered the guards to clear out of the room, and then went to stand in front of the septon. She dropped to her knees, “Your High Holiness,” she greeted him.

“Spare me your false courtesies, your grace.” The old man’s voice was thin as ice, “I know what you think of the faith.” Margaery gathered her skirts and stood up. “You mistake us, your worship. We are only trying to maintain the law and order in the city.”

“About a thousand men are outside the castle wall, denouncing the king. Is that what you call order?” The High Septon asked. The number only swelled to that when they saw you come, Margaery was tempted to say, but the High Septon carried on. “The sellsword that is manning those famous trebuchets behind the Mud Gate put the Rosby castle to death before coming here, is that your notion of law?”

“Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is no sellsword. He is an anointed knight and is the Lord of Stokeworth, a loyal servant of Tommen.” Margaery said, though she knew that the loyalty of the Imp’s former pet went no deeper than his skin. “He killed Lord Rosby’s ward when he refused to come to King’s Landing as ordered.”

“And for that he has been promised the Rosby castle, no doubt.”

“He brought a thousand Rosby swords for us that would otherwise might have joined Aegon. Surely Your High Holiness knows the concept of reward.”

The High Septon was not fooled. “Your words cannot mask the lie in your eyes.” He said, “You find the man just as repulsive as I do, I can see it. You keep surrounding yourself with sinners, someday you will drown in their sins with. Look at what happened at Darry. It was Lord Lancel’s seat, who is one the Warrior Sons. A man of the seven. But his castle still fell to Lord Royce. It was because of the people that he serves, and because the Freys that held the castle. It angered the gods, and they mated out justice as they always do.” His tone softened a little, the anger in it going out, “It is not too late child. The gods gave you another chance when they found you innocent of treason. Do not squander it. War is the scourge of the gods. Whenever man’s sins on this earth become too much, they use it to cleanse the earth and punish the wicked. There is an army approaching the city, impersonating this very scourge. This might be your last chance to take the righteous path. Take a lesson from what happened to your friends the Freys. Send the sellsword and your brother away, and maybe the gods will show you some mercy?”

“My brother?” Margaery asked him incredulously, “What has Loras done to you?”

“To me nothing. But he is a traitor as well. No one has forgotten how he crowned the Lord Renly.”

“Loras has repented of that. He gave up all the worldly temptations and took the white, and swore to always put his duty first.”

“Yet he remains the same proud man he once was. The gods punished your brother for his transgressions at Dragonstone, but he has not changed his ways. Open your eyes Your Grace. He considers himself above the law. He thinks that his birth and his sword make him eligible for anything in the world. And has no regard for the gods either. He had no right to lay hands upon Tyene.”

“You wouldn’t say it if you heard some of the things she has told us. Things about the treachery of the dornishmen and about Aegon’s plans. Plans that we would never have known if we had left the matters in your hand.” Margaery could feel her temper rising, “You speak of duty and treason, but what have you done? Where is your loyalty?” She asked him finally, questions that were driving Loras mad ever since he had returned from Dragonstone. “You have done nothing but spread obstacles in our paths. And for every aid you have given us, you have exacted a heavy toll. An army is approaching us yes, and you will have us remove the man who had brought us fifteen hundred swords. You have more men than that, but how many of them have you offered us to fight Connington? Tell me, how many?” She knew the answer. Zero. The High Septon claimed that the Warrior’s Sons were the defenders of the faith. And Connington was the enemy of the King, not the gods. And then he had the gall to call Loras traitor.

But the High Sparrow changed his tune. “Time and time again you have demonstrated that that is the only language you understand.” He said in a voice as hard as iron, “The trading of favors. You will never do something because it is the right thing to do, but only if you see some profit in it. You and Lord Tyrell and The Queen Dowager before the both of you. I had no intention of keeping my men confined in the sept once the traitors arrived. I know that this Aegon is false. The seven send me visions, and I have seen this black dragon. A dragon whose wings are attached to strings that stretch back through time. But these same strings weigh him down so he never can soar. He is no more than a mummer’s dragon, and every man of mine is pledged against him. I was only waiting for the right moment to offer them to you. A moment like this, which I can use to get rid of the last of the traitors that surround the king, and give him a godly army.”

A silence followed that, until Margaery grasped what he was saying. “You will give us your men?” She asked, not quite believing it. Another Fifteen hundred men could mean the difference between victory and loss in this battle.

“For a price,” The High Septon said bitterly, “I want the sellsword Ser Bronn to answer for his crime. Relieve him of his command, and if you have no one that can command his men, I will gladly provide you with one.”

“Ser Horas can command them.” Margaery said absently. She should say thank you, a voice in her head whispered, fall to her knees and hug his legs in submission and gratitude. For these fifteen hundred men won’t only help against Connington, but also against the mob. Once the smallfolk see the High Septon pledge his swords to Tommen and the Tyrells, the riots will end. Margaery was sure of that. If they saw the Warrior’s Sons take up swords against Connington, the smallfolk might also arm themselves against the exiled hand. They were more loyal to their gods than they were to their king. Margaery remembered the story Garlan had told her, the story of the fall of the dragonpit. “Never undermine the smallfolk.”, he had told her. If they turned on Connington like their ancestors had turned on the dragons, the Tyrells might not even have to draw their swords. But first she had to secure his swords to her, “What else?” she asked.

“I want Tyene released to my custody. I swear upon the seven that I will give her fair and unprejudiced trial, after the war, something that your brother could never do.”

Margaery nodded, now for the last part. She knew what the high sparrow wanted next. “And I want Ser Loras gone.” She heard the High Septon say, “I don’t care where. But he must leave the city. I will not make my men defile themselves by fighting besides the likes of him.”

Margaery didn’t even get angry. He was offering to unite the city behind Tommen. Her mind was already wondering where Loras could go. He will agree to this, she was sure. Her brother may be rash and impulsive, but he had a warrior’s senses. He had hatched the idea of offering Myrcella to Lord Hardying. Casterly Rock instead of Winterfell to get him to break with Sansa, or to force her to give up her support of Shireen in exchange of Cersei’s head. Lord Yohn Royce was leading the army that had taken Darry however, and his son Robar had ridden with Renly. Loras was afraid that Yohn Royce might be angry at him about his son’s death, that was why no raven had yet been sent to Darry. But if Loras went to him himself, he could appeal upon the friendship he had shared with Robar, and get Bronze Yohn Royce and Hardying to listen. “Loras could ride to Darry to Lord Hardying, to try and form an alliance.” She said to the His High Holiness, “They could even turn up at King’s Landing the way my father once did with Lord Tywin, to save the city from Stannis.” She moved forward and took the High Septon’s hands in her own and fell to her knees, “We will never forget this, your worship. You have my word. And you are mistaken about us. Had there been no war, had it been a time of peace, you would have seen that we are kind and good people who bear no malice towards anyone. It is just that this is a time of desperation that you see us like this.”

“We reveal our truest selves when we are desperate or frightened, child.” His High Holiness said, visibly calming himself. “Then we will work on ourselves, with your guidance.” Margaery promised him. She let go of his hands and stood up. “I will fetch my brother, and tell him what we have agreed upon.” Leaving him there in front of the throne, it took her all the effort in the world not to run to tell her brother the good news.

But a roar greeted her when she threw open the doors to the throne room, making her stop in her tracks.

The noise was coming from outside the castle walls, from the other side of the gatehouse. Her feet carried her forward into the outer yard as her gaze travelled upwards, to a figure up on the traitor’s walk. She could only see his shoulders, but she saw the white cloak he wore. His one of his hands was raised in the air, and in it he had a women’s severed head, hanging by the hairs.

The High Septon appeared beside her just as she heard Loras shout at the roaring mob, though they couldn’t make out the words over the noise. The gold cloaks beside Loras started to slam the butts of their spears on the ground, and the mob quieted down enough to let them decipher the words. “This is what happens to traitors,” Her brother shouted to the unseen people, “And to any and all of their supporters. If any of you want to die beside her, I will gladly oblige you. If not, then go back to your homes and prey for your king.”

A stone flew above the battlements, and Margaery saw Loras duck. He disappeared from the view from a moment, presumably impaling Tyene Sand’s head on the pikes. He reappeared a moment later, and Margaery saw him gesturing at the gold cloaks on the wallwalks. The crowd was shouting again, and stones and filth was rising up in the air. She couldn’t hear what Loras was saying, but his message was clear, for soon she saw two gold cloaks walk forward to the edge of the walls with crossbows. Soon, there were screams mingled with the shouting of the crowd. “He is firing on them.” She heard the high sparrow say in a voice marred with disbelief, “On his own people!”

Margaery whirled towards him, “Go inside. It is not safe here. I will bring Loras down.” Without waiting to see if he obeyed, she turned towards the gatehouse, and gathering her skirts, ran. She shouted for her brother, but her voice didn’t carry far enough. And she couldn’t see him anymore either. Near the gatehouse, she grabbed Igon Vyrwel who was hastening to go up. “Send Loras down.” She told him, “Tell him I said it is urgent. Tell him the High Sparrow is here.”

Her heart was beating fast as she watched him scarper up the winding steps. Men were running about her, rushing up the steps with bows and arrows. The stones still flew in the air, and in the shouts from outside, Margaery could hear the name of Aegon being shouted. She looked behind to see if the High Septon had gone inside, but instead saw him approaching her. Losing her patience, she screamed, “Loras.” She was so close, she was on the verge of securing at least a hope for the Tyrells. She could not let him ruin this as well. “Loras.” She screamed at the walls again, willing him to appear.

He came in a few moments. She saw him running toward her. “You shouldn’t be here.” He said to her, taking her arm. “A stone might hit you. Go inside.” He spotted the High Septon standing beside her, “What is he still doing here?”

“Loras, His High Holiness has agreed to lend us his swords of the Warrior’s Sons.” Margaery said to him urgently. “Tell them to stop firing on the mob Loras, and we can go in and discuss this.”

“There is no need to discuss.” The High Septon said moving forward, his eyes fixed on Loras, “I have only one change in my terms. I cannot let Ser Loras go. I am charging him with murder.”

“You do not charge me with anything.” Loras sneered, his scars twisting. “Loras, shut up.” Margaery said. She turned to the High Septon, but before she could say anything, they were interrupted by Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. “They are asking for him.” He said to them, breaking into their circle and nodding toward His High Holiness. “They know he is inside. They want him out and safe, away from you.” He said to Loras.

Loras took this in. “Very well.” He turned towards the High Septon, “Go outside and tell them to stop throwing stones at the King’s Men, and I will command my men to stop firing the arrows. When you have dispersed the crowd, I will let you back in, and we can discuss this.”

But the old man shook his head, his eyes defiant. “I will not go outside without you. I am done trusting you.” He turned to Margaery, “Remember all that I said child. There is no redemption without repentance. You are walking on the edge of a cliff here, and your next step will decide whether you fall into the abyss or not. If you want my support, my price is your brother’s head.”

Margaery looked at him askance. She had been so close. “Your High Holiness, be reasonable.” She pleaded, “Tyene Sand was a traitor.”

“As is your brother.” The High Septon said.

“Shut up!!!” Margaery screamed, startling Loras and Bronn. “Shut up.” She almost advanced on the old man. “Stop calling my brother a traitor.” Breathing hard, she swore at a septon for the first time in her life, “You have taken leave of your wits if you think I will let you kill my brother.”

The High Septon didn’t say anything. He just looked at Margaery with a sense of finality in his eyes. Margaery stared him down, though she soon wanted to look away. The High Septon was half starved with a haggard look, but something about him made him look as powerful as a king. Margaery would have looked away, if not for her brother. “Ser Bronn.” Loras said in iron tones, breaking the silence, “Help me drag His High Holiness outside the gates and throw him in the arms of his followers.”

“That’s probably not a good idea.” Ser Bronn mumbled as Margaery looked away from His High Holiness. “If we open the doors, they will kill us. Better to take him up to the gatehouse towers and show them that he is alive.”

“Aye let’s do that.” Loras said and moved to seize the High Septon, but Ser Bronn moved in his way. “Best if you don’t come. If they see you, they’ll think you mean to nick his head off too.” He took the High Septon by the arm and began dragging him to the steps, with the high sparrow yelling the god’s wrath upon the sellsword.

Margaery took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. What would happen now? Loras came to her and turned her towards himself, his eyes more tender than she had ever seen. “Sister,” He said, “I promise I will fix this.” He cupped her cheek, “Let the mob calm down. Let the High Septon cool down, and I will do everything in my power to turn him back to our cause. Anything I have to do, I will do it to keep you safe. I promise I won’t let anyone harm you.”

Margaery’s eyes filled with tears. Looking at him, she found she cared nothing for the scars. “I know you will.” She said, smiling for the first time after what seemed like a long time. Her worries already seemed to be evaporating. “I have nothing to fear with you beside me.”

Their surrounding suddenly reappeared around them as something changed. At first Margaery couldn’t place it, but then she realized that the mob had quieted down again. But it was only the sight of the High Septon that had quieted them. Ser Bronn had led him up to the gatehouse, they could see. Margaery saw a trio consisting of Ser Humphry Waters, Ser Bronn, and the High Septon standing in front of the pikes. “Your High Septon is here. And alive for the nonce” Ser Bronn called to the mob, shaking him by the arm for the crowd. “If you don’t want him to die, come and rescue him.” The sellsword called down, and before Margaery could understand his words, he slammed his sword into Ser Humphry’s back.

The entire crowd fell silent. Margaery’s mouth fell open with shock as they Ser Humphrey scream while falling. It seemed as if he was falling forever, but then a dull thud sounded, and the sound was cut off abruptly. “Rufus.” Ser Bronn of the Blackwater called down the wall to one of his men, “Throw down the ropes.” He turned to the mob and raised his sword and shouted, “For Aegon.”

In an instant, pandemonium broke out all over the walls. The mob outside roared, and the walls of the Red Keep shook as hundreds of men ran towards them. “Traitor.” Loras shouted beside her as he took out his sword. He looked at his sister, dread creeping into his eyes. “Go in. Find Tommen and close off Maegor’s Holdfast.” He said. “You come with me.” Margaery heard herself say. “You come in with me.” She repeated.

“I will.” Loras pushed her backwards, towards safety. “Soon. I promise. Now go, please.”

Up on the walls, Margaery saw the first of the sparrows gain the battlements. He went down instantly from an arrow. What will arrows do when even dragons couldn’t do anything?

Margaery whirled and ran. The High Septon’s words about a cliff ringing in her ears. She could feel the abyss opening beneath her.


	31. Dany II

It was a tiny sound, a ghost of a sound. The crack of a twig. The merest whisper of leather sandals on the grass. A rapid and excited, but still suppressed breathing. It was the small sound of a hunter hunting its prey, but it was enough to wake Dany from her sleep.

She was alert in an instant. Another dragonslayer, she thought. The world was pitch black around her. Dany could feel the grass swaying to the cold winds from the north. She could feel footsteps close around her. Cautious steps. Slow and measured. She thought she saw a cloud of breath go up in the meager moonlight. Why wasn’t Drogon moving? Frying the dothraki assassins as he had done thrice before. Dany slowly turned her neck to where the dragon had been sleeping, and had to stifle a scream when she realized that her dragon was no longer there.

The dothraki heard her. “I heard something.” He said in a low, panicked voice, “Is the dragon back?”

“No.” Another hissed from somewhere, “But keep shouting and it will.”

“Shut up. You will wake her.” Another voice said. They were drawing closer. A chill went down Dany’s spine. They knew Drogon was not here. She crouched on the ground, ready to spring and run. Where was Drogon? Will he hear her if she screamed?

“Light a torch.” A voice was saying. “No fool. The dragon might see and come back.” Another hissed. Dany pulled herself across the ground, keeping low and trying not to make a sound. But she had no stealth, and the dothraki had been hunting since they could walk. “There.” One of them said, unmistakably in her direction. And Dany took off.

The grass pelted her from all sides, reaching as tall as her shoulders. Stones poked her bare feet and thrice she almost lost her footing on a grass root. But Dany still ran as fast as she could. She could hear men running behind her, pursuing her. Curses were flung at her, and she knew the voices were getting closer. Suddenly, her feet collided with something, and she fell into the embrace of the grass.

Tangled in the grass, breathing hard, Dany suddenly knew why Drogon had left her alone. It was the stench that filled her nostrils. Rotten meat, but not too rotten, still promising to be a juicy meal for a dragon. They had lured him away by game. Dany hadn’t been allowing drogon to leave her side, ever since they had destroyed and routed Jhaqo’s khalasaar. She had constantly been afraid of some dothraki rider coming to take revenge on her, and rightly so, for many had tried. Dany glimpsed mounted men almost every day. So whenever Drogon showed signs of spreading his wings and taking on the wind, Dany shouted “Down, Drogon. Down,” until he complied. He must’ve gotten hungry. The few fish and the single goat they had found was no proper fare for a dragon. They had lured him away with meat, the dothraki. Drogon must have caught the scent and slunk away while his mother was sleeping.

She had hesitated too long, not that it would have mattered. Someone stumbled upon her body. Dany gasped and tried to get away, but a kick sent her down again. There was some shouting, and after a scuffle, strong hands seized her. A whimper escaped her. She could feel a face mere inches from hers. “Be thankful that Mero doesn’t want us to kill you, cunt.” The face snarled, “Or you’d be dying from my cock right now.”

That is not to say that they didn’t beat her. But a few kicks and a black eye were the least of what she would soon get, she knew. They bound her hands and feet. Dany tried to control her breathing, shutting her eyes against the sudden glare of burning torches, lest they see the fear in her eyes. Her eyes were tightly shut as they carried her for a distance to where their horses were hidden and slung her one its back like a sack of wheat. With the crack of a whip, they were away.

Dany had lay awake through the journey, slung across the back of the horse, trying not to imagine what would happen next. Jhaqo had known who Dany was, but will her new captors care? She tried to still her fluttering heart. Nor for the first time, she had to stop from scolding herself for trying her escape with Edda.

In a few hours, they reached Mero, who had been one of the bloodriders of Khal Jhaqo, the only one who was still alive. By that time, her eye had swollen, and she had difficulty in opening it all the way. Her side was merely sore though. But her mind was racing faster than a dragon flew. The blood of the dragon isn’t afraid, she told herself, but the fear returned every time she finished the phrase in her mind. She remembered the torture of the slaves she had witnessed at the hands of her sun-and-stars’ dothraki. Even little boys hadn’t been spared.

The men carried her from the horse and threw her at Mero’s feet, bound head to toe as if they thought she will turn into a dragon. _I must not be afraid._ She looked up at the cruel face of the bloodrider and mustered all the dignity one could in such a position.

“Kill me.” She spat. “Do it. I killed your khal. Kill me. Have your revenge.

“But know that I also have bloodriders. And they will also be honor-bound to avenge my death, just as you are to your khal. My army numbers in tens of thousands. My unsullied will bury Vaes Dothrak so deep in the ground no one will remember it in a hundred years.”

Mero’s foot caught her in the head. Her neck lurched, and she could feel a blaze of pain where the sole had cut through the skin. The next thing she knew, Mero was pulling her up by her neck. She struggled to breathe and to get on her feet, but he pulled her off the ground. Mero brought her face closer to his, and relaxed his hands so she could draw a few rugged breaths.

“Best to keep you alive then, hadn’t I, slut.” He sneered in her face. “What do you call them? _Hostages”_ He said the word in the common tongue. “We are not permitted to harm those of the old crones, and Vishi wants you to be our shield against your eunuchs.” He tightened his grip on her neck, “But I will have my revenge. It was your dragon that killed Jhaqo.” He released her so she crumpled on the ground. On her back in the grass, Dany sucked in a few desperate breaths. “Vishi doesn’t want you defiled, but there is a price for that.” Dany looked at him as her smiled a terrible smile. “She has promised that I will be the first dothraki to ever slay a dragon.”

Mero was true to his words. Almost. She was not harmed, only handled roughly. She made the journey to Vaes Dothrak slung on the back of a mule. Mero had in his party about fifteen men, and all of them kept their distance from her.

All save a few. A man named Gaaqo and his younger brother Pono were her guard, and they delighted in tormenting her. Pulling her hair, slapping her, groping her. Dany bore it all in silence. They would feed her once a day, and make sure most of it went into her nose. They loved to slap her around as she tried to snort her food in. On the back of the horse, there was not much she could do. So she shut her mind to her surroundings. Soon enough, even when she felt Pono’s hand on her thigh, Daenerys didn’t even flinch. It was only for a while, she promised herself. She need only suffer this indignities for a few days, until Drogon comes for her. Mero was a fool, if he thought he could kill a dragon. When he burns, I will have my escape.

They made fast speed, and covered three day’s ground in one. When Drogon had fired on Jhaqo’s khalasaar, they had been nearer to Vaes Dothrak than Dany had realized. It was probably because of that that Dany was still alive. The dothraki had known where they were, and instead of attacking the dragon that had been firing on their khalasaar, they had run to their mother only three days away. Dany now wished she had mounted Drogon when she still had had a chance.

After killing Mago, after walking away from the corpse riddled field, she had still refused to fly back to ‘dragonstone’. She had still thought that with Drogon at her side, she could reach Meereen. Or that Meereen will reach her. Someone in the city had to hear about the massacre of Jhaqo’s khalasaar. Maybe it will be Daario that will find her, she thought, with his arakh flashing through the air to cut the grass before him and clearing his way to her. It would not do for her to take to the air and let her trail go dry. She had pictured asking Daario to mount the dragon behind her, so that they could fly together. Her captain had had an eye for excitement, “that is why I fell in love with you, my Daenerys”, He had said to her once. She knew he would love the rush of flying. That was why she hadn’t mounted Drogon, even after three dothraki parties had caught up to her, seeking revenge. Instead their failure only made Dany more confident.

But not all was lost. Not yet. She was not going to die. Hopefully. When Daario, and Ser Barristan her Bold Bear, where he was, hear about her being imprisoned, they will cut through the dothraki hoard and save her.

They reached Vaes Dothrak in five days. Dany craned her neck to watch the rearing horses as she passed beneath the arched gate. Further along came the various gods, nameless and forgotten in time. The sun was nearing the horizon, and in the shadows, the gods looked more like monsters each as if eyeing Daenerys hungrily. As the city drew nearer and nearer, Dany’s heart again started fluttering in her chest. The swelling in her eye had gone down. Her body felt numb from being slung for days on the back of the mule, but it was the fear of what they would do to her frightened her. She told herself to be calm. If she had learned anything from being a queen, it was that a queen could not show fear. She could show no weakness. Both Vishi and Mero were fools, but they at least knew that they could not harm her, Dany could work with that. No harm will come to me, she repeated to herself. She looked to the city she was approaching. How much in contrast this arrival was from the last time. Ser Jorah had been with her back then, but she had sent him away. And maybe this was her punishment.

Vishi was the eldest crone in the Dosh Khaleen. Dany remembered her from when she had been presented to the Dosh Khaleen. When she ate the heart of the horse whole to make sure she bore her sun-and-stars a strong son. Even the mighty khal Drogo, whose braids were the longest in all of the dothraki and had never been cut, had been afraid of what the old woman will prophesize about his son. However, Dany knew the value of her prophecies, and had nothing but contempt for the old woman.

Mero himself carried Dany from the horse. She squirmed on his shoulders, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. It sickened her to feel his hands on her person. The ground came almost as a relief, even if it did knock the breath out of her.

“Daenerys Stormborn.” An old voice called. Dany twisted and looked up from the ground. In front of her were the Dosh Khaleen. The old crones of the dothraki with a few eunuch slaves lurking here and there. They stood a few paces away from her, all save one.

Vishi was right in front of her, leaning on a weirwood cane. A face dark with age peering down at Dany through a cascade of bone white hair. “We have heard much and more about you. The stars have galloped across the sky a thousand times since the mighty Drogo died.” The old woman continued, “Yet you never came home. But no matter, for you have finally found your way to your mother.”

Dany tried to sit up, but Mero hadn’t released her bindings. “Is this how a mother treats her daughter? Bind them and kill threaten to kill her children?”

Vishi gestured to Mero to cut the ropes that bound Dany. “Forgive us for being a little afraid of the dragon queen.” Mero grunted as he took out his knife and started on Dany’s cuffs. Vishi chuckled, “Of course, the mighty Mero isn’t afraid of anything under the stars, but I am a woman like you. We women know when to be afraid. When to be silent and when to speak out. When to be warm and loving like a mother, and when to be cold and ruthless like a queen.”

When Mero cut the ropes that bound her feet, Dany stood up and rubbed at her hands. The skin was tender where the ropes had bitten. “I will show you ruthless when my bloodriders arrive. If you do not let me go right now, my city will raze yours to the ground. The Womb of the World will thenceforth be a lake of blood. Your blood. That is if Drogon doesn’t burn you all.”

She could hear the outrage at her words all around her. The dothraki wore no steel in their city of Vaes Dothrak, but she could see the swords on Mero’s men. Their blades shone wickedly in the light of the fires burning on stakes around them. Maybe she should be afraid, but she couldn’t bring herself to be. She was too angry to be afraid. A dragon is not afraid of horse.

Vishi showed no fear though. “Your city will be dead soon.” She said. “Your white knight has fallen, and your sellsword pet is being tortured in the Plaza of Punishment of Astapor. Your councilors are eyeing each other suspiciously, with swords in their hands, and your freedmen have lost faith in them. Squids are swimming in your seas and armies march towards your rebelling cities. People are looking at the dragons you left behind and seeing not their mhysa’s children, but beasts arisen from dead. Some are there even with intent to enslave them. The so called Free Empire is about to die in infancy, just like your unborn child.”

Her words were like slaps to Dany. She stared at the woman. What was she talking about? Was it true? Just spouting off names of a few cities and other nonsense wouldn’t make it true. But how did she know that Dany had a white knight? And her sellsword pet…

Vishi saw the fear on her face. The crone’s toothless mouth twisted in a smile. “The gods are working for your downfall Daenerys Targaryen. There was a reason why the doom came to Valyria. Why your ancestors lost their dragons. Why your brother’s blood flowed down the river along with his rubies. It was to bring an end to the dragons. Those beasts who once were the highest echelons of life in this world were foreseen to bring about the death of that same world. For where can you go when you have reached the top but back to the bottom? The gods have chosen me for this last task, and I don’t mean to disappoint them.”

“You are mad.” Dany said, trying to keep the fear from her voice. “You think you can look into the future? Or past?” Her mouth was dry. “You told me that my son will be the stallion that mounts the world. Instead he died out of betrayal of a Magi. Your prophecies mean nothing. Your visions are mere hallucinations born of your senility.”

“I remember that prophecy. I saw a dragon riding ahead of a khalasaar that spread as far back as I could see. I could feel your presence in the hearts of the dothraki though. I misjudged loyalty for mere devotion however. I thought that that khalasaar belonged to the man who was leading them, and I thought that he was your son. But I was wrong. The khalasaar was yours. The dragon was not leading them, but they were chasing him. To prevent him from freeing the world of you.

“And your beasts are the sons I promised you. Stallions that will mount the world. But I see now that I cannot let that happen. The stars have galloped in their thousands, and the gods have shown me visions again. I have seen your khalasaar, burning proud in their love for you. But their hearts were cold and dead and corrupt. You had corrupted them, you and your sons. You will lead them against the gods, I have seen it. I have seen the death your sons will bring to the world.” She strode forward and seized Dany’s arm forcefully, her eyes burning. “The gods will have their due. Starting tonight. The beast you call Drogon, can you feel him? Your son? He is searching for you. Can you hear him?”

Dany could hear him. There was a screech in the sky as they all whipped around to see. The sky was purple, the first stars were coming out. And in front of them was Drogon, a shadow gliding in the air, swooping down now and then.

“Faquir.” Vishi called to a guard, startling everyone, “Take us to the palace of the Rivers. We will watch from there.” She turned to the dothraki men standing behind Dany. “We spill no blood in the Vaes Dothrak. But today let nothing stop you. Do not be afraid. Our mother is in danger, and we must do all we can to protect her. The beast must die, no matter what. The Great Horse God is coming out to look upon you. Go and kill his enemies.”

A cheer went up from around them. Dany wanted to mock them. Tell them that they were no match for a dragon. But Vishi’s words had robbed her of her voice. She didn’t even protest when hands seized her and started to march her into the city.

She is only talking big words, Dany told herself. There was no shred of truth to them. Vishi wasn’t even trying to make Dany afraid, she was trying to give confidence to her people, she could see it now. Her claim that Dany would lead the dothraki to their doom was a mere tool to give purpose to the dragonslayers. There was nothing in her words but lies and a lot of wind, Dany told herself. But she couldn’t explain why she had gone cold all over from what Vishi’s words. Why was she so afraid?

Vishi’s escort led her and Dany to a Rhoynish palace. Behind them came the procession, the Dosh Khaleen and their guards. The palace was a spacious one, but more importantly, it was the tallest building around. Vishi led them to the terrace, and there they all crowded to watch the scene unfold.

Drogon was circling above the city of gods. All was quiet in the city. Not a bird made a peep. Dany saw movement in one of the squares. Suddenly, all eyes were drawn as fires were lit in a clearing.

It was a market square, a big clearing in the east side of the city. The fires were burning atop pillars that were being raised into the sky. They burned with different light. Some were bright yellow or orange or red, some blue and purple, some were green. In their light, Dany could see a ring of various statues enclosing the clearing. They were gods. Statues of stolen gods had been dragged there from where they had been dumped outside Vaes Dothrak for centuries. From so far away, Dany couldn’t make out whose the statues were, but she thought she saw the harpy’s wings. There was the shell of the turtle god of the Rhoynar. Dany looked at Vishi. Did the crone think lighting fires for gods whose people had been defeated by the Valyrians would make them help her in killing Drogon? Dany would have laughed, but the determination and resolve on Vishi’s face frightened her. Could it be the crone knew what she was doing. Dany had not as of yet forgotten the harmless maegi who had stolen Dany’s husband and child from her.

A murmur went through the crowd as Drogon glided over to the clearing. Dany could feel the old women behind her look at her through hostile eyes, but she ignored them. All her attention was on her son, walking into a trap? All was quiet in the clearing again. Drogon circled over the burning fires once, then twice, and then landed. What was he doing? Was he still hungry? There was a carcass of a horse in the middle of the clearing. Dany watched as the dragon warily approached it. A short burst of fire, and Drogon was gorging on the dead horse. Was this the plan? Shoot at him as he ate? Dany looked for bowmen on the roofs neighboring the clearing, but there were still none. For a while nothing happened, and they all watched as Drogon ate. There was no movement in the clearing until Drogon fell asleep.

Dany couldn’t believe her eyes. Her dragon, after finishing half of the dead horse, coiled on the ground on his belly and rested his head on his tail.

At once, bows sprouted over the rails of the roofs surrounding Drogon. With horror, Dany saw men walk into the clearing carrying spears and more bows. They walked slowly, and none of the bows fired, yet. Dany saw two spears get ahead of them all. In no time, they were each in front of the closed eyes of the Dragon. They raised their spears.

“Drogon.” Dany screamed, finally finding her voice. “Drogon, wake up.” She screamed, knowing there was no way Drogon could hear her so far away, “Wake up. Drogon. Dracarys.” “Silence her.” She heard Vishi cry. But even as hands covered her mouth and pulled her from the edge of the house, she saw Drogon’s eyes snap open. The eunuchs were carrying her inside, but Dany struggled against them. From the clearing, she could hear cries of the men, and the whoosh of the fires. But there were other sounds as well. Sound of a hundred arrows whistling through the air, and cries of pain from Drogon.

On the terrace, fear drove the Dosh Khaleen downstairs to safety. Dany was carried as much by the eunuchs as by the wave of frightened old women. Once they were all inside, Vishi closed the doors that led up to the terrace. Even inside though, they could hear the dragon. They waited with bated breath, all but one hoping that Drogon will not turn to the palace.

It was Mero that came however. When Dany saw him come in, dread coiled around her heart for Drogon. But his expression were not one of victory. He was angry. Someone had told him about Dany screaming the warning to Drogon. “The beast?” Vishi asked. “Gone.” Mero snarled. “Most of our arrows just glanced off its scales. Some stuck inside, but it wasn’t enough. Not after it was awake. You couldn’t keep her silent?”

Relief flooded inside Dany. Her son was safe. Vishi looked at her. “It won’t happen again.” She said.

“Again?” Mero asked, “What again? No beast comes back to the place where it was wouned. Not even a dragon. Not after acquiring a dozen new feathers. It has gorged so much on our lures that it won’t have to eat for a month. It is not coming back.”

“It will.” Vishi said. “It will look for its mother. I can let it know where she is. Garin.” She called to a slave, “Take her below and throw her in a cell. Make sure she does not escape. Ellema,” She called to one of the crones in the crowd behind her, “Send your slave to my chambers. Mero, you come as well.”

They threw her in a dark cell. The eunuchs carried her in as a few dothraki watched her struggle. If she were holed up in a cell, how will drogon find her? How will Ser Barristan, if he was still alive, reach her before someone slits her throat? Swallowing her pride, Dany finally pleaded with them. Even dragon had to bow sometimes.

She called on their mercy, but the dothraki had none, not for her. She promised them riches, places at court, but they had neither the need nor the desire for them. “I will help you become a khal.” She told one of her guards, “You can have your own khalasaar.” but he only pushed her onto the bed and slammed the door shut. Only silence was left to keep her company. Silence, and her shame.

The room was bare except for a bed and a chamber pot. There was a window on a wall near the ceiling. It was under that window that Daenerys Targaryen sat down, pulling her legs to her chin. _I must be strong._ She told herself. _There must be something that can be done_. She was Daenerys Targaryens, breaker of chains. Surely she could break her own as well.

But one day passed, then the second, and then the third. And yet Dany was still in the prison. Her only visitors were the eunuchs who fed her and emptied her chamberpot, and the dothraki guard that watched them to make sure they played deaf to Dany’s entreaties. The window was too high for Dany to reach, and the door was too strong. There was no way to escape. When the sun went down for her fourth nights in the cell, Daenerys Targaryen finally realized that she was imprisoned.

That night, the guards came for her.

Dany did not know what was happening. She had been gazing at the torch burning outside the bars, imagining that it was one of Drogon’s eyes. But her mind seeing Viserion and Rhaegal. Her children that she had confined to the dark. She wondered whether they were still there. Or some thief had enslaved them like Vishi had said. She was startled when she heard the footsteps outside. She rose from the floor and backed into the walls. It was too early for supper. Why were they here so soon? What had changed?

It were some nameless guards that strode in. “What do you want?” Dany demanded. But instead of answering, they marched toward her and seized her. One of them produced a knife. “No.” Gasped Dany, sure that he meant to kill her. But the dothraki only slashed along her arm. Dany cried out as blood started seeping from the cut. Another Dothraki held a bowl under the dripping blood. What were they doing? Dany wanted to ask them. But all she could do was wince as the man held her hand over the bowl and squeezed the wound.

Once the bowl was filled to their satisfaction, they left her alone with a healer, leaving a guard outside.

“What is Vishi trying?” Dany demanded of the healer as she wrapped a bandage around Dany’s wound. The woman was one of the Dosh Khaleen. Dany had seen her in the crowd. “She may see visions of the future, but she is no maegi. Bloodmagic would be for her similar to what would swordplay be for you.”

The healer didn’t answer. She was deaf as well it seemed. Instead, the guard that was left behind pulled Dany from the woman’s grasp and pulled a rope around her head, across her lips. He was gagging her. Why? “No.” She tried to shout as she struggled against him. But a slap left her skull ringing, and her resistance collapsed. The rope bit into her lips, stretching her mouth. When he was done, the guard gave her back to healer who had watched the entire scene without a peep, or any indication of fear. What did the Dosh Khaleen need to fear their sons for? No, it was only the slaves and the prisoners who were the victims of these barbarians.

But the healer spoke when she was done bandaging Dany. She gripped Dany’s uninjured arm and pulled her closer. The guard watching them had gone to the door, to unlock it. “Be strong.” The woman whispered. “I am talking to the slaves. Trusted slaves. And my son…” She dipped her head as the guard looked back. Before Dany could even struggle to say something through the gag, the woman hurried out of the cell.

For a moment Dany just looked at the barred door. Did she really just say that? Her arm was throbbing, and spit was gathering in her mouth, but it didn’t matter. Who was this woman? Why would she help Dany? Would she really get out me of here? Or will just be another foolish fiasco like what had happened with Edda?

But it all went out of her head when, an hour or two later, she heard commotion from outside. Shouts rang outside, carried through her window. Shouts and screams. Startled, Dany got to her feet and ran to the window, listening hard. There… Were those dragon wings? Dany made to shout for Drogon, but the rope wouldn’t let her. She jumped up and down as the commotion outside increased, as if that would dislodge her gag. She tried to reach the window, but it was too high.  All she could do was listen to the screams coming from across the city. A dragon’s screams.


	32. Arianne II

Cider Hall sprawled across the point of the land where the Mander took in her wild daughter Cocklsewent. The castle looked more like a palace than any Arianne had ever seen. Except for its broken wall. The catapult that had caused the breach was still standing before it, seeming too small against the wall as if it were proclaiming its own innocence. As they drew closer, Arianne could see workmen crawling over the rip in the wall. That was good. The Red Apple Fossoways were a prominent house in the Reach, and men will soon come to avenge them.

The portcullis were drawn up when the guards on the wall saw Arianne’s party approaching. “Here comes the kinslayer.” Ser Deizel whispered as Ser Franklyn Flowers trotted towards them with a few men. “I know the king holds you in high regard,” Garibald said from her other side, “But what are we supposed to make of being greeted by a bastard?”

Arianne gave her men a warning look to shut their mouths. “He is not a bastard anymore.” “Lord Fossoway.” She called to the approaching man, “It is a nice castle you have won.”

“Not a Fossoway as of yet my fair princess, but soon enough. Soon enough.” The earless man grinned from ear to hole. “But it is a good castle, even if I say so myself. You must allow me to give you a tour. I have made sure to save the best rooms for you, you’ll see.” He nodded to Ser Deizel and Ser Garibald. “I trust you had no trouble in your voyage?”

“Only the mosquitoes.” Quipped Garibald. “Nothing to jape about, Shells.” Ser Deizel muttered darkly, “Those monsters sucked more of my blood than was probably spilled here in the battle.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Ser.” Said Franklyn Flowers, “The battle was a bloody affair. Lord Ashford had to assault the walls twice. Only after it was breached could we gain entry. Ser Tanton led a sortie to distract us from the breach. They had almost two thousand men inside, survivors from Tarly’s army. They managed to push Lord Rowan’s siege towers into the Mander.” Arianne heard Elia snort behind them, but Flowers paid her no mind, “It was I who pulled him out of the river, Lord Rowan. After slaying my half-brother with this very sword.” He said, patting brown pommel of his sword.

The kinslayer. “And yet you are not a Fossoway?” Arianne asked, even though she knew the answer. No doubt Aegon was balking at the prospect of seeming to award a kinslayer to lordship. He had been planning to keep Flowers in the center, away from his estranged family, but Ser Tanton himself seemed to have foiled that plan.

“The king said I will be raised to my lordship on the day he rides off.” Flowers said, “He said he doesn’t want to surrender the lord’s bedchamber to me just yet.” He took the reins of Arianne’s horse, “Come my lady, there are clouds in the sky. Best we be inside before they break down upon us. And besides,” His face again split in a grin, “The king has some news for you.”

Inside, Arianne handed her horse over to the stableboys. The castle was busy. Hammers rang on the walls while the shouts of the men rang across the yards. Bales of hay were being carried over to the stables. A group of knights had feathered a goose and some deer and they were shouting about it over by the kitchens. A few men had dirty bandages across their head, a few had casts along their legs. Arianne counted five stumps before they made it into the inner courtyard. She hadn’t yet seen a battle, save when Ser Arys had died for her. She had elected to stay behind at Ashford while the King conquered the seat of the Fossoways for this very reason. She was not one of her cousins, and didn’t have a stomach for bloodshed. She hadn’t thought seeing the injuries of the wounded would be just as awful.

But even through their injuries, the men around her seemed happy. Jubilant even. They even cheered at the sight of Arianne and her banners. “Dorne. Dorne. Martell. Arianne” . What had happened? It must be some news that the king had for her.

Franklyn Flowers led them up a flight of stairs and then across a balcony. Arianne could see apple trees down in the gardens below. A covered bridge connected the inner bailey to the drum tower. They had been given apartments in the upper levels of the drum tower.

“Oh look at the view, Arianne” Jeyne Ladybright gasped at the sight outside the window when they entered Arianne’s chambers. Arianne went to the window. Outside, they could see the two rivers curving rivers snake through the hills and towards the caslte. The mountains themselves thinning as the rivers converged The ground was covered in a thin parchment of snow, and on the hills Arianne could see swathes of red flowers “Look, the rivers are of different colors.” Jeyne pointed out. “Oh, I know we are supposed to hate the reach, but how can we not love such beauty?”

After thanking Franklyn Flowers for the rooms and sending him away, Arianne had the maids draw her a bath. She had to meet with the king, and must look like a princess. The bath was welcome after five days of riding, even if she was sharing it with her cousin Elia. After washing each other, the both of them relaxed opposite to each other. The warm water wrapped her like a cocoon, and Arianne let her head sink under the surface, drowning all the thoughts of war. For a moment she was content to watch her hair floating above her. Hair that Arys used to comb with his fingers. Arianne had never loved him as much he had lover her, but she still found herself that he was here right now, to see her soaring. To see her being the princess she was supposed to be.

Afterwards, Jeyne helped Arianne choose a gown to wear. It was a chestnut brown gown, with samite embroidery on the wool that made it seem like leaves floating in the wind if she ran fast enough. She wore her coiled snake bracelet on her right arm, over her sleeve. Aegon had commented that it made her look more dangerous. Arianne liked being called dangerous.

She found Aegon in the maester’s chambers with his kingsguard Ser Duckfield and the maester of the castle. “Your grace.” Arianne went to her knee before Aegon, “Allow me to congratulate you on yet another victory.”

Aegon smiled at her, but it was a strange smile. “Duck, Maester Petar, please leave us.” He commanded as he helped Arianne up, “Princess, please take a seat.”

Arianne was confused. She sat herself at the maester’s table. “Ser Franklyn said you had some news for me?”

“Aye, I do.” He sat in front of her and took her hands in his own, “Arianne, there is no kind way to say this. There was a letter from King’s Landing. Your cousin Tyene is dead.”

His words smacked her in the face like a brick wall. This was not what she had been expecting. Not from all the smiles. Not from all the cheers. Not from the rolling hills and the rivers and the floating hairs. “How… What? How did she die?” She asked, stumbling over the words. Tyene was her favorite cousin, “Is this for certain?”

“The letter named her by her name. I am sorry to be the one telling you this, Arianne. You know she had refused to go with Varys, to stay and work on the High Septon some more. Well, Ser Loras arrested her for Dorne’s crime of joining me. He mounted her head on a pike.”

Arianne turned her face away, so that the King wouldn’t see her tears. Aegon saw them. “I promise you cousin, Loras Tyrell will pay for this.” He squeezed her hands and tried for a smile, “You haven’t heard the later part of the letter. It was the High Septon himself who wrote it, along with one Ser Bronn. The letter says that Tyene’s murder sent the mob into a rage. They attacked the Red Keep. Loras Tyrell was betrayed by his new Lord of Stokeworth, Ser Bronn, who chose to declare for me instead of facing the mob. The Red Keep has fallen. Lord Bronn and the High Septon are calling me to King’s Landing to take the throne.” He leaned forward in his chair, “Your cousin’s death was not in vain. Nor were her efforts. She turned the High Sparrow to our cause. And the city as well. She died for Dorne. She died for you.”

Arianne wrenched her hands from his and stood up. She didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to think Tyene too had died because of her. The king looked confused. Dumbfounded. “I didn’t mean to anger you…”

“May I have your leave to go your grace.” Arianne said stiffly, cutting him off. “I must go and tell Elia about her sister.”

“Yes of course.” Aegon said standing up, “you have my leave…”. Arianne was out of the room before he was finished.

It was hard, telling Elia about her half-sister. Watching the smile on her face vanish and be replaced by horror. When she was finished, Arianne found herself sobbing in the arms of Jeyne and Elia upon their beds. Somehow, hearing the words come out of her own mouth was worse than hearing them from Aegon.

They didn’t leave her solar the rest of the day. She received her meals in her bedchamber and shared it with Elia and Jeyne., though none of them spoke much. Elia was angry and sad by turns, and restless. Around evening, Arianne couldn’t take anymore of her fidgeting. She got up to go sit by the window. Oh Tyene… She had been Arianne’s constant companion since childhood, being the closest Sand Snake to her in age. She remembered her when she took leave of her father, the Prince Doran. How innocent she had looked. How deadly. She But now she was dead. First Uncle Oberyn, now Tyene. Obara was still on the field. And Quentyn too. She was surprised to find herself truly worried about her brother. She had thought she had learned the meaning of death when Ser Arys Oakheart died. But that was nothing compared to this. Apart from the ache in her heart, for the first time, she understood the meaning of war. For the first time, she really understand why her father was such a cautious player.

There was a knock on the door. It was Duck. He was dressed in his eternal whites. He bowed deeply to the princess. “The king has sent me to offer apologies for his words this morning. For angering you.” He said, “He told me to tell you that this is his first time doing this, and begs for your patience. He asks if you and your ladies would honor him by joining him for supper.”

Arianne made herself smile and stood up. “Sweet and chivalrous words ser. Tell His grace not to apologize for my reaction. Of course I will sup with him.” She gestured at Elia, “My cousin however is in no fit state to come before the king. Lady Jeyne will keep her company, so it will only be me I am afraid. It is just as well. I have things to talk with Aegon.”

She met the king in his dining hall. Aegon seemed hesitant toward addressing her, so she put his mind at ease at once. “Forgive me for my abrupt reaction this afternoon, your grace. I was taken aback by the news. I was already fraught with nerves with what happened with Obara, and how her army would soon see battle. I had thought Tyene safe, but instead I heard that my favorite cousin was murdered at Tyrell hands.”

“For now I can only offer you condolences,” Aegon reached over and squeezed her hand. “and apologies for seeming to trump the capture of the Red Keep over your cousin’s murder. That was never my intention. But soon, I promise I will present you with Ser Loras’ head.”

Arianne nodded, “What about Obara? I have been on the field for a week. I have had no news of her.”

“She is on the march, still. We have sent a messenger to Ser Garlan about her army. And I included in the message that she must survive the battle if Ser Garlan wants to keep his sister’s head on her shoulders.”

“So everything is moving according to the plan.”

“Uhh… Everything, except the time, I would say.” Aegon frowned slightly. “Lord Lancel is marching his army too hard. Robert was famous for his forced marches and nightly travel, and Lancel Lannister seems to mean to outdo him. It may be that we will be forced to face Lannister earlier than Ser Garlan. No doubt Lannister is trying to arrive at Cider Hall at the same time as Ser Garlan. They can’t communicate properly with each other since we are sitting squarely in the path of any messenger or raven they might try to send. That is why the forced marches, Lord Ashford thinks. But he doesn’t know that Ser Garlan will be delayed due to the Ironmen. He has already slowed down, due to Ironmen raiding up the Mander. A few days ago, some ships even sailed past Highgarden in the dark of the night. Greyjoy also seems to be trying to keep Tyrell from reaching Cider Hall too soon. We are planning to march out of this castle for Lannister’s army as soon as we get word of Ser Garlan defeating Euron Greyjoy. We will overrun the army of about five thousand that Lannister’s managed to pull together, and then turn back to Cider Hall.”

“Is that wise Your Grace? Maybe we should continue on to Longtable. Surely by the time we turn back, Garlan Tyrell will have taken Cider Hall, and he will have almost double the number of men that we have. We do not need to march on him anymore. We have his sister and his father both as hostages. He will not dare to move against us. He will bend the knee.”

“And I will accept him on bended knee, but on the ground before me. Not on a piece of paper carried by a raven to Longtable. Neither will I have it said that I ran from him.”

Your pride is sometimes more dangerous than your foe’s sword, her father had told her once. “Your grace-” She began, but Aegon cut her off, chuckling “Of course I will not meet Lord Garlan in battle without a few tricks up my sleeve. I have stopped the repair of the breach in the wall. And I have men with picks crawling on other parts of the walls, weakening them. When we come back, those walls will serve no better than paper shields for Ser Garlan. And as for his almost double our numbers, they won’t be too useful when we slit their throats in the night. Ser Tudberry is overseeing the digging of a tunnel that will be our path into the castle once we come back. The tunnel will be comeing out of a well, so I doubt Tyrell will find out about it. If he wants to go swimming, he has the entire Cockleswent for it.”

Arianne nodded slowly. “And no doubt we will be absorbing Lannister’s men into our army as well. And maybe some krakens might join us as well. They won’t know we lured Euron Greyjoy into the trap. It is a good plan your grace.”

“Good enough for Dorne?” Aegon teased. But then his smile died. He looked down and sighed.

Arianne could see something was troubling him. “What is wrong your grace? What is on your mind?”

Aegon shook his head, “It is nothing.”

“It is something.” She leaned forward, “Come, tell your cousin. What good is family is you cannot talk to them?”

Aegon smiled at her calling him family. “It is just that… I am becoming uneasy with the plan. Lord Connington was right, we are luring Greyjoy by a falsehood. That makes me just as bad as Tywin Lannister.”

Arianne was startled. “Tywin Lannister laid the bodies of children at the foot of the Iron Throne. This man Euron Greyjoy puts pregnant women on the prow of his ships. I would say you are as good as Baelor the Blessed in comparison.”

“Maybe so.” Aegon hesitated, “But when I was in Essos, people were simpler there. They had no loyalty. No honor. They only understood money and power there. Griff used to tell me that it was different in Westeros. Here, honor meant something, at least back when Targaryens reigned. I never told him this, but I felt this was not true at least in Aery’s time. I told myself that my grandsire was consumed by madness, and driven to dishonor from it. And Westeros paid the price for it. Then we started hearing the news of what was happening here. Robert’s alleged murder at the hands of his wife. Ned Stark’s beheading, the five kings. The Red Wedding. The Imp’s slaying his own father. It sickened me. All of it, even though it was happening to those who had betrayed my father. I told myself that I will put Westeros to rights. That I will find the lost honor of this land. But here I am, using deceit to lure an unsuspecting man into a trap. What will it mean for my kingdom?”

Arianne frowned, “Wars are not won just by honor Aegon. You know this, otherwise you would never have come up with the plan that you did. Pure and simple honor will only get you killed. A ruler needs to be unscrupulous. Just, but clever. Putting Greyjoy to death is nothing but justice. The entire Reach will love you for it. In the villages and towns, they will tell just what you had been telling yourself. A dragon is come to set Westeros to rights.”

Aegon looked at her gratefully. “I am very fortunate to have you by my side, Arianne. Doran Martell must be proud to have you as a daughter.”

Arianne smiled. But it went away quickly. “I hope so. And I hope to continue making him proud. My father… He always has a plan.” She said looking at her empty plates. “He had a plan when Elia died. He had a plan when Viserys died. He made a plan even when his brother died. And when Tyene died what did I do? I curled up in a window and cried.”

Aegon again took her hand and squeezed it. “You lost one of you family Arianne. As a prince who lost his family when he was just a child, I promise you that even princes grieve. And princesses as well. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“I am not.” Arianne sat up and dried her eyes. “Not anymore. Because I have a plan of my own.” She looked at Aegon, “I have made up my mind about Hardying. You may offer him my hand in marriage if he will support our cause.”

Aegon was surprised at her words, and delighted. “Arianne, that is…”

“For the best of our kingdom. Though I will not pretend to loathe marrying a lord of the Eyrie who is covering himself in glory in the Riverlands.” She allowed herself a little smile, “The last we heard of him was that he had taken Darry.” The story was that he offered the lady of the castle pardons in return of surrender, and then paraded her through the keep naked to be seen by all. But Arianne was a Martell of Dorne, and not a Frey whose line Hardying had vowed to distinguish. He will not dare mistreat me. “By now he must have left Darry. Lord Harrold can interfere in a major way at the Red Keep. We must secure his alliance before some of Tommen’s loyalists has a chance.”

Aegon nodded. “I will write and send the letter tonight itself.” He looked at the window as if imagining the raven flying away. “Oh dear, look at how late it is.” He gestured at the servants to load the dishes, “I don’t want any more talk of war now, if that is okay with you. How about a nice, quiet dinner between cousins. Maybe you can tell me about Tyene.” He smiled a sad smile. “I never had a family, except for Griff. Maybe you can tell me how that is like.”

If someone had told Arianne that she would be going to bed that night with a smile on her face, she would have made sure that that person would never smile again. But when she laid in bed with Elia and Jeyne for the night, she felt almost at peace. It had been wonderful, talking with Aegon about Tyene, and the antics she used to pull with Arianne. The princess smiled again at the memories, and fell asleep thinking about her cousin.

Her morning was not so peaceful, however. She woke to someone banging at the door. Groggily, she went to the door and opened. Ser Deizel outside.

“Princess. Get dressed. Obara is coming.” He said to her.

Arianne was confused, Obara? “What? What is she doing here?” She asked him. Ser Deizel was just as confused as her however. “I don’t know. They are coming over the booms across the Cockleswent right now though. The Ironmen and Lady Obara’s men. I saw her banner. Come, we can see from the terrace.”

“I should go greet them.”

“The king has gone to greet them, and to question them on why they are here. The scouts that first reported the army said that Crow’s Eye is claiming that our messages never reached him. His grace told me that Greyjoy doesn’t know of your presence here. He wants it to keep it that way.” Arianne nodded and let him lead her to the terrace.

On the terrace, Arianne saw what Ser Deizel had said was true. The drum tower faced eastward, but it was the tallest one in the castle, and she could see the black and golden banners of the Greayjoy snapping in the wind. And the sun and spear banner that Obara would be displaying. There was the Crow’s Eye’s own banner as well, a red eye on black, snapping in the wind over all others.

Arianne saw Aegon leaving the castle to meet them with what looked like half his lords. A column detached itself from the incoming army, and Arianne could see that it was Obara leading them. She spoke to Aegon and then headed inside the castle. Aegon remained there to speak with a man in black armor who could only be Euron Greyjoy. Even from afar, Arianne could feel the confusion down in the camps. What were the ironmen doing here? What happened to the messengers? Did they fall into Tyrell hands? What did this mean?

Obara reached the terrace far more quickly than Arianne would have thought. Someone had woken up Elia, and she walked up to Arianne with her half-sister. When they entered, Arianne went straight to Obara and hugged her. “I am so glad you are okay, I was so worried about you.” She said to her cousin. It was so good to see her hard face, “What happened? Why are you here?” Did you hear about Tyene?”

Obara was going to say something, but she stopped. “What about Tyene?”

Arianne was about to answer, but a sudden clamor from the camps down below caught her ears. She turned around, and her stomach dropped in horror. Down in the grounds, the Ironmen had all crossed the Cocklswent… and had attacked the camps. Arianne saw a hundred arrows taking flight in the sky, falling on the tents. Screams filled the air as men were butchered down below. The ironmen were clearing the palisades and jumping the ditch to get into the camp. Tents were being fired, horses were running around, and men just waking up were being ridden down.

Obara pulled her back. “Don’t go near the edge.” She said, “And arrow might get you”. Arianne turned to face her “What is happening?” she asked her cousin, “What arrow? Why are they killing them?” Did Greyjoy find out about Aegon’s plan to betray him?

Her cousin looked away, as if she couldn’t bear to look at the princess. “I am sorry Arianne”

Beside them, Ser Deizel Dalt had taken out his sword as if he thought Obara could mean to harm Arianne. Arianne was about to tell him to put it away when Obara pulled her own sword out. But Obara merely threw it at Deizel’s feet. “Take it ser. Arianne, tell him to take it and kill me.” She her face twisted, “I am a traitor, but I don’t want to die under Hotah’s axe. For the sake of my father’s memory, give me this mercy. Tell him to kill me, and tell Dorne I died in battle.”

“Obara no.” Elia cried as she hugged her sister. But Obara pushed her away. “I am sorry.” She said to the girl. Arianne finally found her voice. She could now hear clangs of the swords from down below. The enemy was inside the camps. “Why?” She asked Obara, “What happened Obara? Tell me.”

“He captured Sarella.” Obara said miserably. “She came to see me in Ryamsport, to warn me about Euron’s treachery. About his plan to turn on your Aegon. But he found out about it. He said he will kill her unless I cooperate.” She looked down at the ground, “I couldn’t let her die.”

“What treachery?” Arianne heard herself ask. “What did she know?”

“He means to marry Daenerys Targaryen.” Obara said, “He only declared for Aegon so he could get him to Cider Hall, where he could ambush him. Sarella warned me of it, but then he caught her. I had no choice…”

Arianne turned away from her. She could not bring herself to say that she didn’t blame her cousin. Arianne was glad that she had not let Sarella die. The sweet and witty Sarella, so full of humor. She wouldn’t have been able to bear to lose another cousin. But-

But this meant that Tyene did die in vain. Arianne wanted to cry. Her eyes found her king. Aegon was fighting Euron Greyjoy himself. Their horses circled each other as their men fought each other around them. Arianne saw Ser Rolly’s white cloak, trying to get at his king. Lord Ashford and Ser Franklyn were there as well. The camp was in ruins. Lord Rowan and Red Ronnet were desperately trying to keep the ironmen off the walls. Ser Elwood Medows emerged from the gates as she watched, leading scores of men toward their king. But they were attacked instantly from all sides by the Ironmen. And in any case, they would never have reached Aegon in time. The Ironmen had surrounded the king and his handful companions. He is going to die, Arianne thought sadly. He would have made a good king. A just king. But he is going to die. Aegon had guessed it right. He had planned to betray Euron, and had had his betrayal paid for by betrayal itself.

Beside her, she heard Ser Deizel suck in a breath. “Who is that?” he asked suddenly, pointing eastward. Arianne looked around.

There, through the morning mist, another army was emerging.

From the looks of it, it was only the van. They emerged through the mists, riding hard. It was all horse. “Gods be good.” Ser Deizel said, “It’s the lannisters.”

“Ser Ronnet has thrown them off the breach.” A man shouted from inside, probably for Arianne’s benefit. But Arianne was looking at the army coming from the east. She went to the other side of the terrace.  The center had emerged from the mists now. They marched along the coast of the Cockleswent. But the van had outstripped them. Soon, Arianne could even make out their banners.

Soaring above the cantering horses were the crimson and gold banners that belonged to the boy king Tommen. The men were all in Tyrell reds, and she could see banners from the reach as well. The leader of the van however carried the crimson banner of house Lannister on his spear, however. “Lancel Lannister.” Arianne whispered. He should be at least two days away from us. What is he doing here?

The Lannister van reached the castle just as the Ironmen gained inside the walls. Behind them came the foot, running, trying to keep up. Lancel Lannister didn’t wait for them however. His van rounded about the curtain wall and headed where the battle was. One by one, starting from right and going to the left, Arianne watched the knights on the horses drop their lances parallel to the ground. They slammed into the ironmen and Red Ronnet’s stormlanders both at the same time.

From her terrace, away from all the arrows and the swords, the dornish princess looked on as men from four different kingdoms of the Seven Kingdoms fought down on the ground below. It was her doing. In part at least. She had invited all of them to die here by supporting Aegon, and yet she was safe here atop her terrace. There was battle going on inside the castle as well. Arianne prayed that they will not come up here. Let the outcome be decided on the ground. She wasn’t ready to meet the father above yet.

She watched as the ironmen on the ground were taken by surprise and were ridden down by Lannister’s men. She saw Red Ronnet’s banner go down as well. Ser Tudberry and Lord Medows were trying to rally their men and push the horses and the ironmen back. But Arianne could see that the pressure was too much. The ironmen in the castle were coming outside to help their brethren, but by now the foot of the Lannister army had caught up, and the fighting spread all across the plains.

Arianne saw the leader of the Lannister van, the man in golden armor, cut his way through the ironmen towards Aegon. Arianne was surprised to see that her king was still standing, thought almost all of his men were dead. She could see the white cloak flapping about him as well. Ser Duckfield was still defending his king. The golden man had a white cloak beside himself as well though, and together with about fifty men they cut their way to where Aegon and Euron were still fighting. She saw them breaking into the ring of the Ironmen. She saw Lancel Lannister slam into the Crow’s Eye and unhorsing him.

And then suddenly the Ironmen were running. They threw down their banners and their spears and they ran, ran away from the Lannisters. There were ships in the Mander, and Arianne had no idea where those had come from, but the Iromen ran towards their escape. Seeing the fighting dying down, Red Ronnet and Black Balaq tried to lead their men inside the castle and close the gates, but the Lannister foot was already over the walls.

Arianne did not need to see any more. The outcome was decided. The battle was done. The blood was spilled, but the head count would only rise. The color was gone from her face. She remembered what had happened the last time the castle of a dornish princess had been taken by the Lannisters. She turned to Ser Deizel Dalt, “Yield when the Lannisters come for you. Tell them who I am, and that I want to speak with Lord Lancel.” Father above, she prayed with all her heart, I may have done wrong. But don’t let me be the second Elia Martell. If there is any justice up there, please don’t let the white cloak with Lancel Lannister be The Mountain.


	33. Jaime II

The land was a desolation. For every hundred paces, they came upon a corpse. Be it animal or man, they were all brothers in that they had been burned to ash. All around them stretched burned trees. And beyond them to the east, one could still see the rising smoke from the still spreading wildfire.

“Burn them all.” Aerys said, and Jaime Lannister ran him through with his sword. _I wonder if Ned Stark still would have judged me as wrong if I had tried to stop this fire,_ he thought, looking around at the burned wolfswood.

The ash rose like the dust from below the hoofs of his horse, and also fell from the sky as if it were snowflakes. It was irritating his nose. It was the same nose that had almost gotten purple from the cold of this damned north, but right now Jaime was missing the cold. Anything is better than this horror.

“I have never seen a forest fire before.” He said to Roose Bolton, if only to escape his own mind. “But even to my untrained eye, the one we saw did not look right.”

Roose Bolton inclined his head, “Aye. It was an unnatural fire. As unnatural as our captive. As unnatural as the gods giving someone like me a gift.”

Jaime wholeheartedly agreed. Even though Roose Bolton’s victory would only increase Jaime’s chances of going home alive and not in an ash pot, he still couldn’t fathom what kind of god would favour Roose Bolton with luck when there were other perfectly better candidates. If that plan of Bolton of killing Selyse and taking Rickon Stark hostage had worked, he would have earned the right to reap those fruits. But the plan had apparently failed. “The northmen knew,” Mance Rayder had told them, “The red witch made them wait until we struck the first blow though, otherwise we wouldn’t even have had a chance to speak to Snow.” Snow had agreed to become King in the North. But it would have mattered either way by then. Roose Bolton had promised Mance Rayder to be at the village by dawn, but he had been delayed. Without him, the northmen would have killed the wildlings. And Bolton would have faced a burning stake.

But, that was not what had happened. Just five days ago, the world was thinking that Roose Bolton was done and defeated. But since then the earth had turned and Bolton had come out still having a fighting chance. For someone like Roose Bolton, sometimes just that much could prove enough.

They were closing on the village where the last of the Baratheons had died. Well, the true ones at least. They would have turned back to Winterfell yesterday after reuniting with Mance Rayder and his wildlings. Bolton had convinced them to stay with Bolton’s camp for the nonce. The news had come that Howland Reed had put Winterfell under siege, and it was imperative that Bolton turn back. But then Bolton’s scouts reported sighting men from Selyse’s erstwhile camp-another gift from the gods-riding back to the Village Green to look for survivors. So Bolton had decided to roll the dice. “Going back to Winterfell right now would be tantamount to shutting yourself in a prison cell.” The Leech Lord had said to Mance Rayder, “You don’t make any friends from prison.”

A league away from the village, the scout Jaime had come to know as Gared rode up to them. “They are here, m’lord. They’re making a raft, probably t’see if someone is still on the Islands. They started retreating when they saw us, but we told them of how you requested a parley. It’s not a big party, but all are horsed. Morgan Liddle’s leading them, with Alysanne Mormont and some southron knights, or mayhaps lords. One had a crow on his chest.”

“Lord Lester Morrigon. Of Crow’s Nest.” Jaime supplied.

Roose Bolton nodded. “The southron men do not matter.” He turned to Jaime, and Mance Rayder who had pulled up alongside Jaime, “The two of you will come wih me. But try not to speak.”

“You think it’s a good idea for me to come as well?” Mance asked, “You are trying to make friends here. The men from the hills hate me with a passion, and not without a reason.”

“My brother once told me that the best way to make a friend,” Jaime said, “Is to pull up your sleeves and show them you have nothing hidden up there.”

“Having heard what I have about Lord Tyrion, I am sure he never followed that bit of wisdom himself.” Lord Bolton said, “But that is the only way for us.” Nodding to them, he turned to Walton Steelshanks. “Make our prisoner ready.”

The village was nothing like had been described to Jaime. He could see the lakes, but the lake had no ice floor. The ground around it was black, and was littered with corpses of burned men. Of a camp, there was no sign. “It were the tents.” Mance Rayder had said when he told them of the battle, “The explosion on the island stretched as far as the watchtower. Even the floor of the lake shattered. The flames receaded quickly, but a lot of us caught fire. But we could dive into the snow, ‘n that’s what most of us did. We crowded to see what was happening on the islands, and almost resumed the fight. None of us noticed the fires spreading across the tents, and then onto the trees” The fight had broken up after that. The wildlings were camped on the eastern side. Jon Snow had placed them there so they will bear the brunt of the attack if Roose Bolton surprised the camp. But it only worked against him. Another gift from the gods. If it had been the northmen who had camped on the eastern side, and thus, retreated away from the fire to the east, towards Bolton, life would have become more complicated for the Lord of the Dreadfort.

They waited by the lake shore. Two northmen and two southron knights in furs and armour. Regardless of north or south however, they all scowled alike when they spied Jaime Lannister and Mance Rayder flanking Roose Bolton, with a hooded prisoner trailing them. Lester Morrigon cursed at the sight of Jaime. Beside him stood Lord Robin Peasebury, a hand on his sword. Two northmen sat on their horses by the lake, a man and a woman, their eyes only for Roose Bolton. “Get this over with, Bolton.” The man said, “Say your say, and go. I don’t want to look at you or your friends more than I have to.”

“Morgan.” Bolton acknowleged him in a cool voice. “Lady Mormont.” He ignored Morrioln and Peasebury. “Does that mean you still see me as the enemy?”

“Well, apart from the wildings and the Lannisters, yes I would say so.” Morgan Liddle replied, “Oh but wait, I see you have both of them in your camp. Have you made a pact with the Others as well m’lord?”

“No. But it seems to me you have.”

Liddle’s eyebrows shot up, “How so?”

“Who else brings back people from the dead?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about Stannis and Melisandre.” Bolton made a show of looking from face to face, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

Alysanne Mormont came forward, “Say what you mean, and fast.”

“I mean,” Bolton said as if talking to a child, “about what caused the fire, Aly. Do you really not know?”

“She didn’t tell them.” Mance Rayder said from behind Bolton, “Tormund told me. Melisandre told them that Jon Snow had merely been injured at Castle Black, though grievously, and that she saved him. Not that she brought him back. Tormund said that though Selyse never explicitly said it, the northmen were riding with her under the impression that they were going to avenge Stannis and bring you to justice. She never told them how Melisandre was going to burn someone to wake her king, like she burned Bowen Marsh to bring back Jon Snow from the dead.”

The faces before them changed from contempt to shock and disbelief. “Is this true?” Morgan Liddle demanded of his southron companions. But Peasebury and Morrigon said nothing. Alysanne Mormont spoke, “We heard rumors.” she said slowly, as if remembering. “But there are always rumours, especially about men who rule, or lead. And it’s worse at the wall.”

“Aye, rumours and fishwife tales and myths and legends.” Bolton’s voice was soft, “But that doesn’t mean that they are false. When your uncle wrote to the five kings about the dangers beyond the wall, everyone thought that it was just another exaggeration. Another beggar looking for swords and favours. But there have been too many rumours and tales floating around, and supposed first-hand accounts as well. And what does Jon Snow, the commander of the Night’s Watch do? He consorts with witches and tries to put a corpse on the throne. He already broke one vow by deserting the wall. You would have let him break the wall itself, by making another Night King.”

“Okay, now he is just spinning tales.” Peasebury said, looking at his companions. “But even if it is true. Stannis was the Azor Ahai. He wielded Lightbringer. You saw the sword my lady. It glowed. He couldn’t be the night king, never. He would have been given life by R’hllor. He is a god. The Great Other is his enemy. Melisandre said so. Stannis was his servant, she said.”

“I wouldn’t be too certain about that.” Roose Bolton said. “Look around, Alysanne, Morgan. Look at the wolfswood, the pride of the north. What do you see?”

Jaime knew what they were seeing.  Burned, blackened trunks, stripped of leaves, stretching as far as the eyes could see, before vanishing in the grey gloom of ash and smoke. It looked like the stranger had taken fancy to the place. But The Stranger had no place in the north. The north belonged to the old gods. The gods of the trees.

But the trees were all dead. Burned by another god. A crueller god, a more sinister one. “This,” Bolton said, “is the fury of R’hllor, at the death of his servant. Does this look like a god’s work to you?”

Jaime could see uncertainty in the eyes of the northmen. Alysanne Mormont started to say something, but Lester Morrigon stepped forward, “Aye, dead rising. Witchcraft and human sacrifice. You left out walking on water and parting seas, my lord. Maybe convert water to wine as well.” He spat on the ground. “Go on my lord, why have you stopped? Now that the people involved are dead, there’s no one to discredit them. Your attempts at turning the northmen against us are pathetic, Bolton. I expected so much more from the lord of the Dreadfort. None here is foolish enough to smell the wind coming out of a Bolton’s arse and call it the breeze of spring.”

“You still don’t believe me.” Bolton said, looking at Liddle and Mormont. “Have you heard about Stoneheart?”

Alysanne Mormont looked at the prisoner behind Bolton, as if for the first time. “Is that…?” A sudden uncertainty passed on her face, “That was...”

“Just a tale?” Bolton asked, “I wish.” He pulled the hood off of Catelyn Stark.

Gasps and curses greeted the sight. AlyMormont’s hand shot up to her mouth. Morgan Liddle pulled his sword out. “What have you done to her?” He roared at Roose Bolton.

“This was no work of mine.” Bolton said, ignoring the naked sword, “This was the work of Thoros, another priest of the same order as Melisandre. You might have heard of him,” He said to Alysanne Mormont, “He rode beside your cousin when Balon Grayjoy first crowned himself. Melisandre had the same powers as him. She was going to use them to bind you to a dead king.”

Mormont and her companions all stared at the dead woman before them as if robbed of their speech. The once revered Catelyn Stark, bound and gagged. Her handsome face torn to bits. A single gash on her throat sang of death, yet her eyes looked at you with a hatred that was almost incomprehensible. The wife of a Hand and the mother of a king was turned into a monster of the dark.

Jaime couldn’t help but smile. Oh how the tables have turned. His hand was throbbing, his phantom fingers were twitching.

They had encountered Lady Catelyn and her men in the wolfswood. The Lady Stark of House Dead was rushing to undo her scheming. From what they understood from the prisoners they took, Asha Greyjoy had betrayed Bolton to Catelyn Stark. Though not fully. “She probably wanted to be on the winning side,” Roose Bolton had remarked, “But couldn’t decide which side that was.” Asha Greyjoy told Catelyn Stark about her son Rickon being alive. On the field, marching in secret, Lady Stark hadn’t known, and so she had sent Brienne to kill Stannis and make Jon Snow take command and crown himself. But hearing that her son was alive, she had a change of heart.

She couldn’t take Howland Reed’s help however, for she had planned all this behind his back, just as Brienne had said. So instead, she took a hundred loyal men, and told Reed to go and put Winterfell under siege while she went to Selyse as an envoy. Her real intention was to stop Brienne from killing Stannis, but she hadn’t anticipated a Bolton army right behind her.

“I don’t know if Stannis would have been the night king.” Roose Bolton said softly to Mormont and Liddle. “Frankly, I don’t care. He was a southerner. I renewed my fealty to His Grace Robb when he crowned himself, because I did believe that the north belonged to the northmen. The Iron Throne has no business ruling us. It has brought us naught but grief. Starting with this woman here.” He shook Lady Catelyn’s arm. “I respected Lady Catelyn as much as any man. But let us face it, it was Lord Rickard’s southron ambitions that pulled us into the war. True, we won it, but we lost many of our own, including your father, Aly.”

“And then Ned Stark rode south with Robert to become his hand, and we had another war in our hands. And this time the price was dear, you’ll all agree. When the Young Wolf crowned himself, I told myself that the southron influence will be gone now. But then he went and married that western queen of his, and it all fell apart. And now it has happened again, with Stannis and his wife.” Roose Bolton ground his teeth, “I sent my men riding west on the swiftest horses, to chop the trees and make a breaking line to stop the fire, but even as I am trying to stop this most terrible fire the north has ever seen, Lord Reed has put siege to Winterfell, taking advantage of my position. Stannis’s Hand is still on the march, and he has brought cannibals with him into our homes. These men clearly do not care about the north, and what it needs. All they want are our swords for their ambitions.” Bolton took a breath and looked at the two northmen one after the other “Although, not all are like that. There is another army marching north. Sansa Stark is at Torrhen’s Square. Behind her are ten thousand men from the Vale. I know you all love her, for she has avenged the Red Wedding. But she is also demanding we bend the knee for this new Targaryen.”

“She is trying to end the war.” Cried Peasebury. “Wasn’t that your whole point? No more war?”

“End the war, but on what terms, my lord?” Bolton asked, “I will not bow to your terms, not anymore.” He addressed Liddle and Mormont again, “Continue siding with the southron men, and the next time a king dies, it will be your son on the march. Then when another heir decides he doesn’t like the king, it will be your grandson who will go as a hostage somewhere. If the queen in the Red Keep fucks her steward, it will be your daughter that will be married off as alliance or an appeasement.”

Liddle finally found his voice. He tore his eyes from Lady Stoneart’s face, “And what do you want us to do? Side with you? Bend the knee to you? You who betrayed our king? Lied to us all about his siblings?”

“I did what I thought was the best for the north. I believed the princes dead. It was my son that lied to me. He is a bastard, but he was all that I had. But no more. My new wife is with child, and this bastard means nothing to me. My scouts reported to me that Lord Davos trapped him against the burning forest when he turned back on encountering the wildfire. And I said ‘good riddance. My legitimate heir is that much safer now. Lord Davos is welcom to Ramsay.’ But back then, when King’s Landing sent an imposter in place of Arya Stark, he was the only one beside me. And the only reason I went along with that lie was because it was a means to end the fighting. I was able to unite half the north with her help. I will not apologize for trying to achieve peace. I would have brought peace to the entire north, had it not been for Stannis.

“Now it is Harrold Hardying and his knights of the Vale that have invaded the north. You need to decide where the north goes from now. It is southron to be dishonourable. You saw how fast Renly turned on his brother and nephew. How the Lannister and the Freys are. Yet their influence drives us to break laws as well. Jon Snow gave castles to Stannis. Castles of the Night’s Watch. He should never have been allowed to leave the wall. He gave Karhold to a wildling, and in return you give him an army? If he hadn’t marched, maybe the wolfswood would still stand intact today. I tell you my lords, I will not put up with this any longer. I will not bend the knee to Lady Sansa as long as she hides behind the soldiers from Eyrie or supports Selyse. I will not let my fate be decided from someone thousands of leagues away on the Iron Throne.”

The northmen were speechless at the onslaught, or maybe it for hearing the load of bullshit Roose Bolton was capable of doling out. But the stormlords wouldn’t let up so easily. Lester Morrigon stepped forward again, “Lies spun with half-truths, those are the best lies. And you have a rare gift, my lord of Dreadfort.” He turned toward Middle Liddle and Aly Mormont, “He himself doesn’t believe a single word of what he is saying.” He said pointing toward Bolton, “I know you know this, my lord and my lady. He knows that Davos holds your lord, Rickon Stark. All he is trying to do, is to get you to break with Lord Davos so that Davos kills him. Then even Sansa Stark will turn against you, leaving you only Roose Bolton.”

“Not so.” Bolton spoke before anyone else could, some eagerness creeping into his voice “Lord Davos holds Rickon Stark, true. But you, my lord and lady,” He pointed to Liddle and Mormont, “You have his queen and the princess.” He stopped at the expression on Lady Mormont’s face. “What? You do don’t you? Don’t tell me the poor girl died in the fire.”

“No. We don’t know what happened to them.” Mormont growled, “We came here looking for her, in fact.” She glanced at the island, “And her mother...” She sucked in a breath as she spotted the raft coming back. “Good god. They’ve found them.”

Jaime almost laughed when he saw the raft. There, on the lake, it floated toward them through the black water. Good god indeed. Or maybe it was because the weirwood was burned that the old gods couldn’t check Bolton anymore. The men that Liddle had sent to the island had found whom they were looking. On the raft, he could see Brienne. Beside her lay Shireen, her disfigured side up. Beside both of them lay a boy Jaime might have seen at Winterfell, and another boy that Jaime recognized as Tyrion’s old squire, some Payne. On Brienne’s other side, two bodies lay charred to bone.

“Oh no.” Moaned Lester Morrigon. “She’s dead.”

“Only the queen.” Liddle’s men assured him as they came ashore. Jaime swung down from his horse to help the raft onto the land. He pulled Brienne and her squire on the ground. “The princess lives. As do these three.” The guards told them.

Brienne was still breathing. Her skin was clammy, and her flesh was burning with fever, but she was alive. Jaime thanked the gods for that. We will be going home soon, he wanted to tell her, away from this bloody cold north. You to your father, and me to my sister and my son. To his side, Peasebury was fussing over the unconscious Shireen. Above him, Lady Mormont was talking to the guards, “What about the direwolf? Snow has a direwolf.” But the guards told her that they had scoured the entire island, but had seen no sign of the beast.

“Maybe they ate him.” Alysanne Mormont said swinging down from her horse. Jaime stood up as she bent on down upon the prone body of Snow. “I am surprised they survived on that burnt island for so long.” She took hold of Snow’s sword, and pulled it from its scabbard, “Finally, longclaw returns to its rightful owner.” she said in a satisfied voice as she examined the blade. It was valyrian steel, Jaime could see. Mormont took off her own sword and put the valyrian blade in its place. She turned to Bolton. “What do you propose?”

Bolton smiled, “I propose an exchange. A prince for a princess. And also,” He gestured at Stoneheart, “Using her, we can get Sansa Stark to drop her support for Shireen and send back the knights of the vale. That will be easy, I think. I suspect she only wrote that letter because Rickon Stark was a hostage. If we deliver him to her, it should win her over to us.  We can start by sending her the head of Jon Snow. He is her bastard bother, and that of Rickon Stark. King Robb legitimized him when he thought that all his brothers were dead, and his sister married to a Lannister. No doubt she still fears that some lord will try to raise him as King in the North. By naming him a deserter and executing him, we will be doing her a favour, while at the same time telling her that we will not bend meekly. Then, when she knows to take us seriously, we can use our hostages to forge a peace and get rid of the outsiders. The north will be ours again.”

“You talk the talk well.” Liddle said even as he motioned his guards to restrain Morrigon and Peasebury, “Yet consort with a Lannister. If you mean to advocate against the souterners, you need to get rid of the sisterfucker here.”

Jaime’s head snapped to look at Roose Bolton. To his chagrin, Bolton was still smiling, “My thoughts exactly. It will be a gift of good faith.” He turned to Jaime and explained, “I had initially meant to offer you to Sansa Stark as a shield against your sister’s armies. But King’s Landing has fallen to Aegon. You are of no use to her, except for maybe revenge for her father. But if Lord Davos has you in his custody, his path back south will be that much easier. And so it will be that much easier to convince him to leave the north. You will be his ticket under the new king’s peace, that is unless he burns you for your treasons and for good winds for his voyage south.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, here’s a riddle. How come Lancel made it all the way to Longtable, while Sansa only reached Torrhen’s Square? In fact, the truth is that Lancel is halfway back to KL by now. Now how is that possible?
> 
> The fact is, according to a dilligent study of the complete timeline of ASoIaF novels by an awsome fan(truly, the fandom of ASoIaf is staggering), Sansa descended to the gates of the moon in AFFC three days before Cersei was imprisoned. And Kevan Lannister died a month after that. And Jon died a month after Kevan. This makes the endpoint of Cersei’s story in ADWD far ahead of Sansa’s story and Jon’s even farther.
> 
> This is the real reason for the only few northern chapters for a lot of southern chapters. I had to make Jon wait while Sansa caught up to his time. This is also the reason why Sansa made if from the Eyrie to the twins in a single chapter while King's Landing forces made two trips to Storm's End.
> 
> But by now, everyone is almost at the same point of time, and we can have evenly spread chapters in the north and the south. Hope that satisfies you. Have a good one.


	34. Margaery IV

There was a knock on the door. Alla opened it to let her father in, “Let’s go. It is time.” He said to his daughter.

Margaery turned from the looking glass and looked at Lord Mace Tyrell. Her father wore his best green doublet, with red vines of roses rising from the belt. His beard was pointy again, and slick black. He looked like how a rich and powerful lord should. Except for his new cane. And the grief on his face upon losing his son.

Margaery went to him and slipped her arm around his back, giving him support. “How is your hip today father?”

“Just how it was yesterday.” Her father grumbled, “And how it will be for the rest of my life, if that wretched Balabbar is to be believed. Come, they are waiting for you. Best not make the hollow dragons wait, lest they puncture themselves.”

And won’t that be so jolly, Margaery thought.

They set out of Maegaery’s and Tommen’s apartments. Margaery traded her father for Tommen. Lord Mace and her cousins Elinor, Megga and Alla fell in behind her, accompanied by their septa. This was all of her household that remained now. All her handmaids and other ladies in waiting were confined in the maidenvault with the other captives or ousted from the castle. And all her knights were dead, or languishing in the cells below like Ser Horas. In their stead, the High Septon’s men fell beside them. The royal family had been in the High Septon’s custody ever since the castle fell.

Outside, the castle was a picture of calm. It was an hour past noon but the sky was overcast. It was snowing. Margaery and Tommen walked the familiar paths that were suddenly unfamiliar, and not just because of the snows. All the Tyrell reds and greens were gone from the Red Keep. Instead she was surrounded by yellow and gold dornish finery, with spears on their hearts. A few sellswords languished around the keeps as well, and many displayed otherworldly clothes from the faraway lands of Essos. The Golden Company was made primarily of westerosi exiles or just younger sons of lords who wanted glory, but there was a fair amount of other men as well. Black Ibbenease men, brown dothraki riders, fair men from Volantis, a women from Yi Ti who Alla swore had a forked tongue.

They all stared at the royal family as it made their way to bend the knee. Margaery kept her head high but beside her, Tommen faltered. Margaery look at him. “Is everything all right, your grace?” She asked her husband.

Tommen’s lips trembled, but he made an effort at bravery, “Yes.”

“Everyone’s looking at us.” Her father warned gently from behind, “We need to move.”

Margaery tugged on his hand gently, but Tommen didn’t budge. There was fear in his eyes. “That’s where Joffey died.” He breathed, almost too low for Margaery to hear.

Margaery knelt in front of him. “Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise.” She held his shoulders, “Don’t be afraid Tommen. My brother will soon come and take the Red Keep. You’ll be safe.”

Instead of calming down, tears formed in Tommen’s eyes, “Ser Loras is dead.”

Margaery almost winced. “Garlan.” She said, trying to keep her emotions in check, “Garlan is coming with Lancel. You remember him don’t you? He was at our wedding.”

“I do.” Tommen nodded tearfully, “His wife is dead.”

This time even Margaery teared up a little. “Everybody is dying.” Tommen said, his voice breaking. “Last night, I again had that dream with the throne.”

“Don’t worry Tommen.” Margaery said desperately. “Forget about the dream. Dreams aren’t real. They can’t do anything to you. Your uncle has Connington’s king in captivity. If they even so much as scratch you Aegon will answer for it.”

“Aye.” Elinor said from behind him, “They had elephants in his camp. Lancel’s sure to have captured some.” They were surrounded by the false dragon’s loyalists, but Elinor didn’t care. “He will tear Aegon apart with them if he hears you are being mistreated.” She said loudly for all to hear.

“And Garlan will gut Connington,” Megga supplied, “And Bronn too, you’ll see.”

Margaery wanted to shush them, but that won’t help Tommen. Not that their words helped either. If anything, Tommen grew paler. “It’ll be over in a while.” Margaery promised him. “Remember what my father said, ‘stay low, don’t anger them, say the words and be strong.’”

Tommen glanced once at Lord Mace, and flung his arms around Margaery. Margaery hugged him to her. He was just a boy, a little boy who was thrust into a cruel word, “There, there. I swear, my brother and father will get us out of here.”

“No.” Tommen whispered in her ear, his voice trembling with fear, “Mother says they will betray me. She is afraid that Garlan will betray Lancel and your father will make Aegon accept you as wife.”

Margaery recoiled and stared at his face in horror. Could this happen? No. Her father won’t kill her husband. She had to stop herself from glancing at him. Instead she took Tommen’s face in her hands and drew him close, “I swear, Tommen, that that won’t happen” She whispered, “I will never consent. You know that Tommen. Don’t you trust me?” she asked looking into his eyes.

Tommen nodded. “Then come. Let’s give Connington what he wants. It is the last days of his life after all. We shouldn’t refuse a dying man.”

Tommen smiled tremulously and let Margaery tug him away. The crowd dispersed, muttering among themselves. Margaery even heard a laugh or two at the king crying into his wife’s skirts. Those men didn’t matter. Surely, at least some of them had just seen an eleven year old boy afraid for his life. Did Connington still have a heart, after more than five and ten years of exile? He calls Robert the Usurper, but did that mean he won’t condone murder of children. Margaery had to convince him to let Tommen live on as Lord of Casterley Rock. She clutched her husband’s hand tightly as they approached the grand doors of the throne rooms. “Be brave.” She whispered to him as much as to herself.

The doors to the throne room were opened for them by a dornish guard. Margaery heard a herald cry Tommen’s and her name, and they stepped through.

The first man she saw was Ser Bronn, looking at Tommen. The court was filled with the usual nobility of King’s Landing. Jon Connington had opened the gates of Red Keep for today, so that the smallfolk may witness their king stepping down. But there were new faces as well. Dornishmen. Margaery knew them from their heraldry. There was the lord of the Vaith, with the man who could only be his son. There was the lord Uller, who was Ellaria Sand’s father who had come to King’s Landing with the Red Viper of Dorne. There was Daemon Sand as well, who had accompanied them and squired for the Red Viper when he faced the Mountain. There were Lord Qorgyle, Lord Gargalen, Ser Ryon Allyrion. Each had a flock around them, dornish captains come to loot King’s Landing and take revenge for Elia. Will our bent knees stop them, Margaery wondered.

As she walked forward, Margaery’s gaze wandered upwards. She saw that the walls of the throne room had been stripped of the Lannister and Tyrell banners. In their place were mounted the dragon skulls, as had been the decor in the reign of the Targaryens. The ones nearest to the doors were small, mere children from the time of Aegon the third. But they increased in size as you came forward, until right on the either side of the Iron Throne were fixed the skulls of Vhagar and Meraxes, the dragons who had hatched in the days when the Targaryens had first come to Dragonstone, the mounts of Rhaenys and Visenya. They were so big, Margaery was sure they could have swallowed a horse whole. And past them, a sole skull jutted forward from the wall behind the Iron Throne, the biggest of them all. Balerion the Black Dread. The mount of Aegon the Conqueror.

The only thing that was missing was the conqueror himself.

Seated on the Iron Throne was the King’s Hand instead, the exiled Lord Jon Connington. Below him, seated where small council would normally sit were his councilors and advisers. There was the man behind the army, Anders Yronwood, the Bloodroyal, lord of the Yronwood. But the sight of him didn’t anger Margaery as much as the sight of his companions did. Beside him was seated the bald eunuch in his eternal silks and velvets as if he had never left. Maybe he never did. Then there was the High Septon, seated with his head held high. Then, next to him was Nymeria Sand herself, the sand snake who had betrayed Margaery. Made a fool out of her. Margaery trained her gaze on the bastard, wishing she could kill with looks.

When instead of quailing under her gaze, Nymeria smirked, Margaery knew what they all really thought of her.

Dropping her gaze, Margaery came forward with Tommen. “Tommen Baratheon.” Jon Connington intoned from his throne. “You are designated a traitor and an enemy of His Grace King Aegon the VI. However, given your age, and that it was your father that betrayed his king, this court is giving you a chance to bend the knee. Profess where your loyalties lie, and give your life in the hands of the gods.”

Hands of the gods? Truly? Margaery sank to her knees with Tommen, resisting an urge to look over at the council table. “My life is yours.” Tommen began his words in a high, expressionless voice, “I give up my claim on the throne and on the crown, as well as my family’s. I beg leniency for my family, and for myself.” His hand trembled in Margaery’s, “I beg you to remember that Baratheons and Targaryen’s were once kin. Our great founders, Aegon the Conqueror and Orys Baratheon were half-brothers. I hope we can put our differences aside and reconcile the two brothers.”

Afterwards, Margaery never could remember going back to the end of the hall. Numbly, she looked on as Cersei and her daughter, and then her father with her cousins repeated similar words. It all passed in a blur, and she was only aware of the small hand in her own. She was startled when her cousins crowded around her. She tried to look brave for them, but found she couldn’t. Her cousins understood though. Elinor smiled at her reassuringly, squeezing her hand, almost causing Margaery to sob.

That night, Cersei came to her door.

Margaery flinched when she saw the queen outside her doors, escorted by Ser Wilburn. She felt her cheek burning, memory of the slap. ‘What have you done?’ Cersei had shouted at Margaery when they all crowded inside the King’s chambers. The mob had been raging outside, and the gold cloaks were fighting among themselves. It was the second time something like this was happening in the Red Keep while Margaery was there, but this time, it were her men that were being butchered. ‘What have you done?’ Cersei shouted at her when Margaery ran inside the room with Tommen. When Margaery could only whimper in answer, the queen slapped her hard. Margery found herself on the floor. That was when the dam broke. All her resolve to be brave was gone with that slap and Margaery descended into the corner, sobbing with her cousins. Tommen left her and dived into his mother’s arms, and he and his sister collapsed on the bed with their mother, staring fearfully toward the barred door, guarded only by Ser Boros. We are going to die, Margaery had thought, looking at their only guard. Aegon is going to get revenge for his mother.

But they didn’t die, and here Cersei was again, asking to talk to her.

The wind was picking up outside when Cersei drew her into the balcony. Margaery clutched her cloak tighter around herself and glanced in the bedroom once to make sure that Tommen was asleep. He was twitching in his sleep, lost in a nightmare in sleep as he was in the waking. “It almost makes me want to kill someone.” Cersei said, looking at her son. “Tommen and Myrcella are all I have left in this life. When I brought them forth from my womb, I promised them the world. And I promised them that I will never let anything hurt them. Joffrey too.” She had a strange look in her eyes. Wild for an instant, desperate the other, “Joffrey is dead though.” She pulled the door shut gently. “I don’t want Tommen to follow him. You must help me.”

“Must I?” Try as much as she could, Margaery couldn’t keep the spite out of her voice, the bitterness at this queen who had ruined everything. Even for the sake of her husband. “Why?”

“Because you don’t want to be thrice widowed.” Cersei held her gaze. “Or die yourself.”

Margaery paused for a bit, “Are you sure you want to speak of this now? There might be birds in the sky.”

Cersei shrugged, “They know I am here, most like. After I am gone. Varys is going to visit you. He will be bringing a letter for you to write.”

“He sent you to convince me?” Margaery was incredulous, “You are actually cooperating with him?”

“He holds the power over my children. I would do anything for my children.”

That Margaery believed. But Cersei’s doing something meant only more ruin. “Whatever he wants you to do is in the interest of Aegon, not yours or Tommen’s”

“In this case the interests of Aegon and Tommen coincide. What did you think of bending the knee in front of Connington today?”

“I didn’t understand it. It means nothing, as long as Lancel and Garlan hold Aegon. My father said that it was an honorable man’s stupid farce. Connington means to write a letter to Lancel he said, tell him that his king has bent the knee and command him to release Aegon. It is a stupid plan that will never work. Lord Lancel is more like to send a letter of his own, telling Conninton how Aegon himself bent the knee.”

“Aegon won’t bend the knee. He is not a frightened eleven year old boy who is worried for the safety of his mother, sister and wife. Aegon knows Lancel dare not touch him as long as Connington has my Tommen in his custody. The truth is that Connington has five hostages while Lancel has only two, and Aegon knows this. He won’t bend the knee.”

“But Lord Lancel only has to say that he did, it doesn’t have to be true.”

“Exactly. When Eddard Stark was arrested, we did the same with Sansa Stark. She was still a stupid little girl back then, and we didn’t even have to intimidate her to write to her brothers and mother, asking them to keep the king’s peace. So madly was she in love with Joffrey. Today’s mummer’s farce was not necessary at all. Connington could have made Tommen and you both just write to Lancel and Garlan.”

Margaery had thought the same, “But then why didn’t he?”

“Because that was a mummer’s farce not for Lancel’s benefit, but for the benefit of the Dornishmen.”

“The dornishmen?” Margaery asked, confused.

“The Dornishmen.” The queen confirmed, “Aegon lost to Lancel at Cider Hall, and the Dornish princess is a hostage. The Dornish are angry that their latest treachery hasn’t paid off. Connington forced today’s ceremony to get Tommen to bend the knee so that if Yronwood now harms him, or kills him, it would be him killing someone who has been pardoned by his king.”

“But why will they want to kill Tommen? If he dies…”

“Then Lancel and Garlan will kill Aegon. And the throne will pass to Myrcella. But Myrcella is betrothed to-”

“Trystane Martell” Margaery breathed. Ties and ties within more ties.

“So you see-” Cersei said, desperation creeping into her voice.

“No.” Margaery cut her off. “Lancel also holds Arianen Martell, you said so yourself. If Tommen dies at the hands of the Dornish, she will pay the price too.”

Cersei scoffed contemptuously, “Arianne Martell is of no value to anyone. Her father’s tried to marry her off many times, once even seeking out Walder Frey. Both him and Lord Yronwood the Bloodroyal favor Doran Martell’s son, Prince Quentyn. He was fostered at Yronwood, but the Bloodroyal hasn’t brought him to King’s Landing with his army, while her father sent Arianne into a camp of sellswords. No, if Arianne Martell dies at your brother’s hand, it will only be another excuse for the Dornishmen to hate the Tyrells more. This time they will have Lancel as an ally because Myrcella will be on the throne. So, everybody wins, except for Tommen and Aegon. And you.”

Margaery pressed her lips together. Was there no end to dornish treacheries? They will kill their own king? “You must write to Garlan, and Willas.” Cersei pleaded with her, “I know you like Tommen. I know you care for him. I know we have had our differences, but don’t let a sweet little boy pay the price for it. The more time we give for Yronwood to test his allies and lose confidence in Aegon and Connington, the closer the sword on Tommen’s neck comes. Tell your brother to release Aegon and place his army under him. That is the only way Yronwood won’t betray him. Garlan and Lancel have almost forty thousand men. Yronwood will avoid a fight if he could. There will be no fight if both Tommen and Aegon die. With you and your father hostages of Yronwood, he will make Garlan put down his sword. You will get a dornish king. And you yourself will be kept here by the Dornishmen the way I kept Sansa.”

Margaery looked at her, “Just this morning, you had other doubts. You thought my father will command Garlan to betray Lancel and ask Connington to let me marry Aegon.”

Cersei was startled, “How did you know that?” Her mouth twisted, “Has your father already betrayed us?”

‘Never let them know that you are thinking’ Margaery remembered her grandmother telling her once, ‘let alone what you are thinking’. “My father hasn’t betrayed anyone.” She said, thinking fast, “You are the one that betrayed us. I am tired of being a Baratheon married to a boy Lannister. My grandmother was right, consorting with Lannisters is like putting your hand in the mouth of a lion. ‘The lion is always hungry’ she said.” Margaery didn’t even have to pretend to be angry, “Good thing that you are all doomed. But thank you for telling us all the problems Connington is facing.” She raised her voice, hoping that Varys and his birds were listening, “That will make it easier for us to offer him an alliance. One sealed with marriage.”

Cersei’s face was a mask of shock. To Margaery’s surprise, it wasn’t replaced by fury. Instead her face crumpled. “No.” She said, “No, please. Not my son. Not my daughter. Please no.” She descended to the floor and hugged Margaery’s feet, almost causing her to fall. “Please no. I beg of you. Not my children…”

That was not the reaction Margaery was expecting. “Let go of me.” She said dumbfounded, trying to extricate herself from Cersei’s grasp. But the queen only hugged her tighter and began crying. “Please. Please. I beg you. Please mother, show some mercy for my children”, her voice came from Margaery’s feet.

Strangely, Margaery couldn’t find the sight of Cersei groveling before her at all satisfying. This could easily be me, she thought, in a few years if I manage to remain queen. “Let go of me.” She repeated.

The door to the balcony opened and Varys stepped in, with a couple of guards. “Help me.” Margaery said to them. The guards tried to pull Cersei away from her, but the queen only hugged her tighter. “Let go of me.” Margaery said once more, now frightened of the sobs escaping the queen. Finally the guards managed to free Margaery of Cersei’s grasp and pull her upright. “There, there.” Varys said to her in a soothing voice, “Have you ever seen a lioness cry?”

That only made the Lannister queen cry harder though. She tried to hide her face from Varys and her guards, but behind her hands, tears fat as pearls were bursting out of her eyes. “Take her to her bedchambers.” Varys said to the guards over her sobs. “Give her something to drink and put her to sleep. And Try not to wake Tommen on your way out.”

Margaery watched through the door as the guards marched Cersei back through the room. Cersei managed to hold her sobs long enough so that Tommen did not wake up. Her husband only rolled over and continued sleeping.

Varys cleared his throat from behind her.

Margaery turned to look at the eunuch. “Such a strong woman, once.” He said looking at Cersei’s back, “But the fear for her child’s life has robbed her of all strength.”

“If you are trying to get me to pity her,” Margaery said pulling the door closed, “You will be disappointed.” Let the bitch suffer. Margaery had no reassurances for her, nor for Varys the spider. “My brother died because of her.”

“Brave Ser Loras.” Varys agreed mournfully. “May the father judge him justly.”

“How will the father judge you my lord?” Margaery asked him, “Walking into a woman’s bedchamber in the night, unannounced.”

Varys gave a frightened squeak, “Oh lord, did misread your tone, my lady? I swear I thought I was invited.”

“Can you misread, my lord? Even if you tried?” Margaery smiled at him her best smile.

Varys blushed and giggled, “Oh, but I must have. Surely you know Aegon means to take Shireen for his queen my lady. Though I am sure it pains him to choose her over you.”

“That choice will pain him quite literally as well my lord. Your alliance with the north is a question of tomorrow. Better to solve the questions of today first.”

Varys grimaced, “It might not be so easy for Garlan to betray Lord Lancel. Daven Lannister ignored your command to sail to the Iron Islands. He is at Golden Tooth right now, and Lord Lancel has commanded him to continue on to King’s Landing. He has thirty thousand men with him.”

For a moment Margaery’s smile wavered. “I know, Lannisters.” Varys said apologetically, “We all don’t find them distasteful without reason. There is more. We are sending envoys to Lord Harrold. He has taken Maidenpool and executed Edwyn Frey. He holds the key to the Riverlands. We mean to offer him Princess Arianne’s hand in marriage if he can rescue her from your brother’s camp. Lord Garlan will not ride into King’s Landing unopposed. His High Holiness has declared for Aegon, as you well know. He has told the smallfolk that Lancel’s claims about his visions of the false dragon were fabricated. He said that was when he decided not to follow Tommen anymore, when Lord Lancel made him lie to the people. But he won’t betray Aegon. He has asked for Harrenhal, a new site for his new starry sept. The one in Oldtown was destroyed by the Ironmen, and he blames you for it. ‘The Tyrells have become godless’ he says, ‘I will no longer accept their patronage’. That is one of the reason we have let him continue to have Tommen’s and your custody, so that Lord Yronwood will not get to you. With Lord Harry and the High Septon at our side, and Daven Lannister marching towards Lord Lancel, the best course for us all is peace my lady. Write to Lord Garlan and tell him of the danger named Lord Yronwood.”

Margaery had grown stiff. Or she pretended to at least. Inside, she was screaming with joy. Oh, these purblind fools. “Daven Lannister is too far away. Harrold Hardying might say no to betraying Sasna Stark. Yronwood might act hastily and get both our kings killed. Try your luck against these odds. Or you could say yes to me, and we can end this right now.”

Varys lost his sweet and giggly demeanor. “It will end, one way or the other. Though I might warn you that I am very good at choosing my odd’s my lady.” He turned back the way he came. At the door, he looked back over his shoulder at her, “Usually the queens have their fates decided by the kings. Innocent souls crushed because of their husband’s ambitions. You are maybe the first after a long time to get to decide her own destiny. I hope you won’t squander this chance my lady of Tyrells.”

Margaery made sure to lock the door to the bedchamber behind him, though she was sure if he meant to come back, she couldn’t stop him. Tommen was still asleep on the bed, tangled in the blankets, but Margaery was too restless to join him. She walked back into the balcony. The winds of winter were howling outside, flying from the north with a cold as sharp as a razor. But Margaery found she didn’t dislike it. It was as if she was alive for the first time, fighting against this cold, telling it that no matter how cold it was, she still had warm blood flowing through her. Through the storming snowflakes, she looked at Maegor’s Holdfast beyond the dry moat. On the highest towers, she could make out the banners of the dragon flapping, flapping like a flame against a storm. _Flap all you want, for now._ She thought. _Soon my brothers will come back. And when they do, they will kill you all._


	35. Tyrion IV

The carriage rattled as it passed on the worn out bricks of the road. It must not have rained for a while, for the dust was in the air. Tyrion Lannister watched it seep in through the bars of the carriage, floating in the shafts of sunlight. He wished he could block his nose, but his hands were cuffed and chained to the legs of his seat. All he could do was look at the city passing by and try to ignore the itching in his torn open nose.

After spending more than a fortnight holed up in a cell, the street should have been a welcome sight. But it wasn’t. Tyrion knew where the carriage was headed. In his cell, he had always woken up in the morning thinking that this was the day that today was. His cell itself was a torture chamber. And not like the unused ones Varys had talked about in the Red Keep. No, these cells had had recent occupants. On his first day, Tyrion had seen that there were scrapes of skin on the inside of a handcuff of the racks. There was blood on the walls and a large stain on the floor, as if someone had been left hanging to bleed out there. Every time Tyrion glanced at it, he had to fight the urge to vomit. He couldn’t help but wonder how soon his own blood will join it. _Thinking like that doesn’t help,_ he would admonish himself, but then another voice would whisper in his head, _yes, there are racks here, oubliettes, hooks and chains as well. No reason to believe you would die on the floor._ It sounded strangely like his sister.

Today morning had been similar to the ones before. He woke up thinking that this was the day that they tortured him. The day had been different from the ones before though, for this _was_ the day that they came to torture him. Only it seemed that they didn’t mean to torture him in the confines of his cell. They were taking him to the plaza of punishment.

He remembered the punishment of the would-be escapees that Nurse had made him and Penny look at outside the walls of Meereen. The artwork of the slingers. While the Astapori probably had no Tolosi slingers, that is unless the city had been taken while Tyrion had been rotting inside his cell.

 _I will not cry_ , he promised himself, thinking what was another broken promise to the kinslayer? He had seen Nurse shitting brown water and moaning alongside his master, and he had smiled inwardly seeing the cruel overseer get his comeuppance. Is this my comeuppance? Could the father above be punishing him from so far away in Westeros? Maybe he asked the Ghiscari Harpy for a favor. Tyrion was sure that she didn’t look too kindly on him either. He had tried to steer the new Free Empire away from her and into the arms of the red god. _As if making enemies of your family wasn’t enough, you had to take enmity of the gods too, didn’t you? You stupid noseless imp?_

The carriage stopped with a lurch. Tyrion could hear the horses whinnying. He gritted his teeth, hoping against hope that it will be his brother that will open the door again. But it wasn’t. It was the bald Skahaz Shavepate.

“Lord Imp.” The Shavepate said to him, as if angry to see that he was still alive. He nodded to the guards, “Bring him out.”

The guards struck the chains binding him off. Soon Tyrion was climbing out of the posterior of the carriage, rubbing at his wrists. Is he here to personally punish me for killing Selmy? True, it was Rhaegal that killed Ser Barristan, but Skahaz could hardly punish his queen’s dragon. At least Tyrion hoped he didn’t. The Shavepate could be dangerous when roused.

The Shavepate was waiting for him on the pavement. When Tyrion saw what he was looking at, he stopped dead in his tracks, colliding with the legs of the guards behind him. They were indeed at the Plaza of Punishment. But the square was empty, save for one naked man bound to a crossbeam. One naked dead man, and thank the seven he was dead. Darrio Naharis had no limbs, no skin, and no genitals. All four of his appendages ended abruptly halfway, with shattered shards of bone poking out of the broken ends. He had clearly been flayed, all over save his face. But that was even horrifying than what was down below. His face was covered in nails. They poked out of his cheeks, Jaw, ears and mouth and eyes. There was a single one in his temple, probably the only one he had been thankful for.

Tyrion bent over and heaved the contents of his stomach at his own feet. Skahaz turned and walked over to him. “His men took over Yunkai when they heard what was being done to him.” He said even as Tyrion retched. “I had to offer the stormcrow’s coffers and weapons to Brown Ben so he would help me take Yunkai back.”

“What about the Mother’s Men?” Tyrion asked weakly, wiping his mouth on his already filthy sleeve. “Marselen wanted to know about Ser Barristan.” Skahaz Grimaced looking back at Naharis, “I couldn’t tell him the real circumstances of the old man’s death. What you did.” He spat, “I tried to pin it all on Darrio, but the Widower made a stronger case than me. They all knew that I had offered to set aside my wife and children to wed Daenerys if she would have me, back when she was looking for a ghiscari nobleman to wed. ‘He wanted her, and the throne’ The widower said to Marselen and Symon.” The Shavepate’s voice grew angrier, “‘He first convinced Ser Barristan that Hizdahr tried to poison Daenerys’ He said about me, ‘And then when he saw his chance, he removed Selmy. And he is torturing Darrio, who was Daenerys’ consort, so he won’t be in his way to the throne.’ He dared to call me a traitor.” The Shavepate made a fist. “They all think I mean to steal the throne of Meereen before Daenerys comes back, if ever.”

“And yet you aren’t in chains.” Does he want my help? Is that why he has brought me here? “If you want me to talk to Marselen…”

“I want you gone.” Hissed Shavepate menacingly, rounding back on Tyrion “You, and all your westerosi friends.” He grabbed Tyrion’s tunic at the collar and lifted him up roughly, “Selmy was a good man. With him in the lead, this empire stood a chance. The taint of slavery would have been washed from the Ghiscari empire. But you… you had to bring your quarrels in the sunset kingdoms here. You ruined it all.”

Tyrion struggled to get a grip on the man’s hand, “What’s happened, tell me.” He rasped, “Maybe I can help.”

The Shavepate threw him down on the pavement, right at Naharis’ shattered feet. Tyrion groaned as he rolled upright. “I don’t want your help.” Skahaz snarled, “I don’t need your help. I would have given you the same end that I gave to Naharis, but Brown Ben wanted you unharmed in exchange for his help. I suppose one snake will defend the other one.” Tyrion was in the middle of sitting up, but he hastily lay back down as Skahaz strode over to him and knelt down, “But I swear,” He said with his face inches from Tyrion’s, almost frothing at the mouth “If you tell anyone about what you did with Mormont, about how to tame that dragon, I will do you worse than I did Naharis. I will pour fire ants down your throat. We never did that to Naharis, but I will do that to you.”

Tyrion gulped. “I won’t.” He gasped out, “I swear. I’ll leave. I’ll go back to Westeros. I will convince Ben.”

“I’ve done that already.” Skahaz said as he stood up, gazing down at Tyrion with anger and… hurt? “You will be accompanying me to Meereen for a while. Marselen and Symon are forcing me to go and present myself before Hizdahr.” His mouth twisted in contempt, “Selmy should have killed him, that treacherous sniveling worm.” He made a fist in anger again, “Marselen and Stripeback are hoping Hizdahr will hang me, and then my beasts and the unsullied will turn Hizdahr, preventing him from marching on Astapor and Yunkai.” He was talking to himself more than to Tyrion. “But I won’t go down that easy.” He said with a look in his eyes that scared Tyrion, “No I won’t.”

Even on the ground scared witless, Tyrion had to wonder. Hizdahr? Hizdahr Zo Loraq? Wasn’t he imprisoned? But Tyrion held his tongue. “You will take a ship from Meereen and you will take your madness with you.” Skahaz Shavepate said to him finally, “I’ve told those who will listen to me that Naharis made the dragon go mad by trying to mount, and that is why it turned on Selmy and Mormont. You will tell them the same.”

Tyrion stood up only after The Shavepate had left on his horse. His carriage still was waiting for him, the guards standing with the doors open. Still shaking from the recent events, Tyrion turned and looked once more at Darrio Naharis. Fire ants. He said fire ants. It felt as if they were already in his stomach, biting away. _I have to get out of this place._

Back inside the carriage, Tyrion was startled to see Brown Ben. “When did you appear here?” He asked the sellsword captain.

“Just before he threw you down at Noble Darrio’s feet.” Ben told him, smiling coldly, “I must say, I thought he broke you. I am still not sure if I am thankful that he didn’t.”

It would not do to appear as shaken as Tyrion really was in front of Brown Ben Plumm. To buy time, Tyrion twisted his back at the waist from side to side, groaning with relief. “You probably aren’t too happy with me.”

Ben raised his eyebrows, “You have been keeping secrets from me.”

“If you are talking about Mormont…”

“I am talking about Casterley Rock.”

Tyrion was puzzled, “What about Casterley Rock?”

Ben grasped the overhead bar of the carriage as the carriage lurched into motion, “You told us that to take back Casteley Rock in your name, we will need the support of Daenerys.”

“That is the truth.”

“No. It isn’t. Not the whole truth anyway.”

Tyrion narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“In Yunkai, I had charge of some of the Volantene sailors.” Ben said, “One of them told me about how the golden company broke its contract Myr. While I already knew about it, what I didn’t know was that Strikeland took the Golden Company out to the sea to sail to Westeros. Back to win their homeland, the Volantene sailor said to me. That got me wondering about the fact that Mormont captured you in Volantis, seemingly at the same time as that fleet was put to sea.” He leaned forward, “‘Our word is good as gold.’ The Golden Company says. Why did they break it? And at about the same time as you, the lion of Casterley Rock was in the city? Coincidence? I think not.”

Tyrion pursed his lips. “You think I got them to break the contract? The captain of the golden company would have gotten lordship from Cersei if he just sent one of his captains to King’s Landing with my head.”

“So would have I. Yet you convinced me otherwise.”

Tyrion sighed, why was he even keeping this a secret. He had to go back to Westeros anyway. Between Hizdahr Zo Loraq and Skahaz Mo Kandaq, he was more like to end up as dwarf stew. “Okay, I confess, I may have withheld the complete truth.” He allowed. Brown Ben might be the only person in Slaver’s Bay who didn’t want Tyrion to die. Better not lose that. “You must’ve heard about the spider of King’s Landing.” He said to Ben, “Well, this was one of the webs that he weaved.”

Tyrion told him everything, from the pentoshi cheesemonger to the exiled hand and the hidden prince. The more he hears about the people who actually might count me as an ally, the more he will be lenient about my hiding this from him. So Tyrion hid nothing of import, except for maybe Garin’s curse and how its shadow had almost fallen on Tyrion. Hearing the story from his own mouth for the first time, it felt like a wet nurse’s tale of some great adventure that she would tell as a gaggle of excitable children gasped and oohed and aahed. All of it except the ending. “Mormont, may the gods just him justly, picked a very bad timing to apprehend me.” Tyrion said winding up his tale. “I ended up here in Slaver’s Bay, while Aegon made for Westeros. The best course I could see was to try and get Daenerys to follow me to Westeros, or to get her to let me follow her.”

Ben had listened to the tale silently, though his face never softened, “Daenerys is dead.” He said flatly when Tyrion finished. “Our time here is at an end.”

“And if she isn’t?” Tyrion countered.

“Then she will soon. Or maybe not. What I know for certainty is that I will not be here to see the outcome. Slaver’s Bay has yielded to me as much as it could. Twice sacked cities do not offer much plunder.”

“Why would you sack the cities again?” Tyrion scratched at his nose, “Come, tell me. I’ve been blind to the outside world for more than a fortnight.”

“And just as well. You’ve taken a liking to this place, I can see. That is the worst mistake a sellsword can make. And that is what you are now, a Second Son.”

Tyrion snorted, “A liking to Slaver’s Bay? You must be japing.”

But back at the pyramid, it felt to Tyrion that there was some truth behind Brown Ben’s words. The pyramid was a rush of activity, and Tyrion saw many familiar faces. That was a relief. He had been afraid about what had befallen his men upon his arrest. But this wasn’t King’s Landing, and Skahaz was not Tywin Lannister. He saw Tomaqq Ko Zodare, the man he had made the commander of the new city watch, still wearing his office chain. There was Zeinarr La Aszarr, his treasurer and seneschal. Ther was his Steward, his kennelmaster, the man he had given Golemo’s pit to.

Tyrion felt their eyes upon him. Worried eyes that held questioning looks. They are ready to betray Skahaz Mo Kandaq if I command them to, Tyrion realized. They don’t trust The Shavepate, but they will rise for the halfman.

Even Bronn had only followed Tyrion only for his money and promise of more money. But these people… They believed in Tyrion. They thought that Tyrion had more chance of saving them from whatever mess that they were in than the tall Skahaz Mo Kandaq did.

Uhlez, his steward, even asked if Tyrion would be taking residence in his old chambers which Skahaz was now occupying. Tyrion didn’t trust himself to speak. There was a lump in his throat-

A call drifted down the hallways, telling that ‘The Noble Skahaz Mo Kandaq was holding court’, and the eyes of his men returned to Tyrion again to see if he had anything to say against it. But Tyrion averted his gaze. He cleared his throat. “Go to the court.” He said to Uhlez in a hoarse voice, “You are the steward, you want to make note of who all is attending.” He abruptly started walking before the man could answer. He did not meet anyone’s eyes on his way to the barracks.

That night he dreamt of Tysha. They were lolling on the bed, half naked as always, and Tyrion was reading to her about dragons out of a book in the light from the window. He saw that she was tiring of Maester Keen’s sermon about Vermithor’s scales, so he shut the book. “I’ve always wanted a dragon,” He said to her, sounding younger than he had in years. He had never told this to anyone, not even his uncle Gerion. “When I was younger, I would pretend that I was some lost Targaryen prince, and that I would one day find a dragon in the bowels of Casterley Rock.”

He knew she wouldn’t laugh at his childish fancies. She never did. He could tell her anything, even things that he had learned long ago not to share with anyone, things that shamed him. But today, as she turned him over his back and climbed up to lay over his chest, instead of asking him what all he would do with a dragon, she asked him, “But what about Casterley Rock?”

“What about Casterley Rock?” Tyrion asked.

“If you are a Targaryen prince, you won’t be a Lannister anymore.” She said, “You can’t have Casterley Rock then.”

“Father can keep the Rock. Give it to Joffrey.” He couldn’t explain how he knew who Joffrey was, “I will have a dragon. And you, my lady. Who cares for the Rock, or being a Lannister?”

“You do.” She insisted, “Would give up your ambitions for what you want?”

Tyrion laughed nervously, usually he was the clever one. “Aren’t they the same thing?” He asked.

“Are they?” She asked ominously, her eyes holding his. “You want to be honorable, but what if the road to me passes through the forest of betrayal? You want to be good, but what if you had to kill innocents to get to get to Casterley Rock?”

Tyrion woke in cold sweat. He couldn’t say why. Tysha’s dreams were always sweet, and this one hadn’t been especially scary. He tried to forget the look on her face as she spoke about the forest of betrayal. I have killed my father over you, yet you are not beside me. _Where do whores go?_ He had come all the way to Slaver’s Bay looking for the answer to that question, but now he was returning without finding it.

Tyrion’s throat was raw. He got up on stiff legs and went to the pitcher in the corner, only to find it empty. Cursing, he groped his way to the door, thinking of going to the kitchen for water, and maybe to the balcony. The cool air will make him forget the dream.

Outside the door, he found Morroqo waiting for him. With a pitcher of water in his hand.

Startled, Tyrion lurched to a stop. “Water, for the Lord of Casterley Rock.” The red priest held out the pitcher, offering it to Tyrion. “I know you are thirsty.” In the light of the torch in the hallway, his tattoos seemed to dance across his face.

Tyrion took the pitcher from him carefully, keeping an eye on the man, and emptied it on the ground beside the bed. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

Morroqo chuckled, “Not taking revenge on Joffrey, if that is what you fear.” He bend down and picked up a second pitcher that he had kept on the ground. “I know that it wasn’t you who poisoned your nephew. Would you like to know who it was?” He raised the flask and took a big gulp. “Here,” He said offering the second pitcher to Tyrion, “Now you know it is only water.”

 _He guessed my reaction,_ Tyrion told himself, _and he has no clue of how Joffrey died._ “I can scream, have you seen what they did to Darrio Naharis? Ben will do you worse.”

Morroqo sighed, “I am no danger to you my lord. You are too valuable to harm. Darrio Naharis was not. I had to expend him for our queen. I had to stop Lord Mormont from getting onto that dragon.”

Tyrion stared at him. “You weren’t even here. Do you think emptying my pitcher before I came in will convince me of your power?”

“How could I empty your pitcher, when I wasn’t here?” He gestured to the hallways, “These barracks are full of your brothers of the Second Sons. I could never sneak in, with my black skin and fire tattoos.”

“You did it now.” Tyrion pointed out.

Morroqo smiled, “The red god emptied your pitcher. He told me about when you would wake in the night. He was the one who showed me what happened at Joffrey’s wedding, from the jousters to the bells that rung to mourn his passing. He was the one who told me to send Darrio Naharis to Jothiel’s pit. I was the one who sent Red Ralf to Port Yhos when I knew the slaves would revolt. Lord Victarion trusted me, but that trust never spread to his crew. I had to send them away to be able to secure a passage to Yunkai.”

“And why did you have to send Darrio to the pit?”

“Your faith in Lord Mormont was very much misplaced my lord.” The red priest sighed, “As was Daenerys’. She realized it in time, and she sent him away. There was a reason for why she did that. I know what you were thinking. He would be a check on Lord Victarion. And he would be a friend to you, as much as he could be anyway. But what about what he would be to Daenerys?”

“He would have protected her.” Tyrion said forcefully, suddenly angry. Whatever his fault, Jorah Mormont hadn’t deserved to die like he did. Neither had Barristan the Bold. And their blood was on Tyrion’s hand. “Selmy died in the pit too. Another one of your queen’s protectors.” Tyrion Lannister was no stranger to causing people’s death. He started with Ser Vardis Egen in the Eyrie, and when the seven kingdoms clashed around him, he had actively taken part in the fray. He burned thousands of men alive on the Blackwater. His latest victim had been his own sire, but Tyrion never regretted any one of those deaths. They had all been his enemies. They had all been trying to kill him or his family. What else was he to do?

But Mormont? And Selmy? No. “Jorah Mormont would have protected her.” He repeated, “He loved her. Maybe you don’t know what that means, but that is more than what a lot of people in this world ever have. And now Daenerys may never have it. I hope you and your god are happy.” Tyrion hoped to the seven that the man won’t mention Tysha. Because if he did, Tyrion wasn’t sure he could stop himself from attacking the red priest. And there was only one way that will go…

But the red priest, even if he did know about her, didn’t take her name. Instead he said, “Protecting those who do not need to be protected amounts only imprisoning them my lord. A prison of love is a gentle prison, an invisible prison, but a prison nonetheless. Life isn’t meant to be kept on a leash however. You must soar if you want to realize your fate. R’hllor gave man the ability of love so we could find some happiness in this vale of sorrow. And Daenerys found it with her khal, her captain and her gruff bear, as they found it with her or somewhere else. But it is only meant to ease your passage through life, as someone once did for you.” He paused, looking into Tyrion’s eyes, “Your ambitions, your dreams, they are nothing but your first loves.” He said softly.

Tyrion’s face hardened. “We are done here.” He said in a tight voice and pushed the door to close it.

“The Shavepate is going to kill Rhaegal.” Morroqo’s voice came just as the door was about to close. “A dragon will die, if you leave tomorrow.”

Tyrion hesitated, the door open just a crack. _It has nothing to do with you. Nothing to with Casterley rock._ He told himself. “All those that you gave a home to will perish,” Morroqo said from the other side of the door, “Or be sold into slavery. All the men and women and children who hailed you as you passed through the streets, they will be screaming under the whip once the Quartheen arrive.”

Cursing himself, Tyrion pulled the door open. “Come in.” He hissed. “But don’t try anything. Or I’ll scream.”

Inside the room, Tyrion lit a taper for the light. He closed the lid almost fully so no glow escaped the window, but it offered light enough for him to see the Red Priest’s face. “From what I know so fa rSkahaz is trying to get Marselen and Symon trust in him.” He said to the priest, slipping into a chair, “He won’t get that done by killing Rhaegal. They already think he killed Selmy.”

Morroqo shook his head. “He won’t do it himself. He will let the quartheen army do it for him.” He sighed when Tyrion just looked at him blankly, “You have been too long in that cell. Much and more has happened since, little of it good. In Meereen, upon hearing of Ser Barristan’s demise, the sons of the harpy took the Great Pyramid and released Hizdahr Zo Loraq. Hizdahr hanged them all and made the queen’s supporters his own. He has wised up from his stint in the cells it would seem. He has renounced the harpy and is supporting my brothers of the guild of the Red God. He has announced pardons for all those involved in dethroning him, and summoned the Shavepate and the commanders of the free companies to Meereen to investigate the murder of Barristan Selmy, which he calls a crime against the queen. He is proposing the continuation of the so called Queen’s council.”

Tyrion snorted, “Marselen and Stripeback are not foolish enough to believe that. Once they present themselves in front of Hizdahr, they will share the fate of the sons of the harpy.” Tyrion had never met Hizdahr Zo Loraq, but from all the reports he had heard, the man was cunning, but stupid at the same time. Stupid enough to get caught.

“The commanders share your view.” Morroqo said. “But there are other complication. While The Shavepate was dealing the mess in Yunkai and Astapor, trying to get your own man Tomaqq, along with Symon Stripeback and Marselen to not kill him, another army marched forth from Quarth. The Stormcrows had taken over Yunkai, and The Shavepate and Symon Stripeback had to march there with the Free Brothers and the Second Sons, blissfully unaware of the new Quartheen army, allowing them to take back Port Yhos.

“This time it is bolstered by men from the far east, from lands like Yi Ti and Samyriana and a sizable fleet from the island kindom of Mahraj and the city of Port Moraq. These men are coming to stamp out this disease of freedom out of the slaves once and for all, and the news of Selmy’s death has only given them new confidence. It also broke the slaves that had taken Port Yhos, who surrendered the city to the slavers in exchange for an easy death. So now Marselen and Symon Stripeback are marching to Astapor with their armies to defend it, while they are sending The Shavepate to Meereen. The Shavepate is almost bereft of friends here, but he has power in Meereen. In the name of the Brazen Beasts. For the nonce, the Beasts have allowed Hizdahr to remain king, but if Skahaz were to return to Meereen and command them to turn…”

“Hizdahr will kill them.” Tyrion cut him off. “The Brazen Beasts are no proper soldiers, but mere watchmen.” He had faced this problem in King’s Landing, with the gold cloaks. “And they are too few. I guess that The Windblown have declared for Hizdahr?”

Morroqo nodded, “You guess correctly. It was in fact The Tattered Prince who convinced Hero, the commander Grey Worm left back when he came to Astapor with Selmy, to agree to release Hizdahr without bloodshed. Grey Worm isn’t being able to contact him, the messages are probably getting waylaid by Hizdahr’s men. The same is happening with The Shavepate. And that’s why Marselen and Symon are sending them both to Meereen. They are hoping that one of Hizdahr or Skahaz will kill the other and they will have one less enemy to fight after they are done with the Quartheen.”

Tyrion remembered The Shavepate’s words. “And what is Skahaz planning to do about it?”

Morroqo pressed his lips together. “He means to force everyone’s hand. He has told Grey Worm to take his unsullied out of Astapor, and he is taking the Second Sons with him as well, the reason being that Marselen and Stripeback can defend the city while Skahaz needs the unsullied at Meereen. But in truth, he is planning that the freedmen will never reach Astapor. I had to get in his good graces, so I helped him establish contact with Red Ralf and Tal Toraq at New Ghis. Marselen now thinks that the ironmen are going to be his eyes on the Quartheen army as they march along the coast. But Red Ralf is going to feed him false reports of the slow progress of the army. Tal Toraq has written to Skahaz and declared his support for the Shavepate should he really take the throne in Meereen. He means to join his Stalwart Shields to Marselen’s and Stripeback’s men on the march to Astapor. But he is going to deliberately slow the march. The Quartheen army will have taken Astapor days before the free companies come in the sight of the red walls. And they will…”

“Kill Rhaegal.” Tyrion breathed. That was The Shavepate’s master stroke, Tyrion could see. Knowing that he himself did not have enough time to tame the dragon for himself like Mormont had done, he was going to get it killed by the enemies of Daenerys. This way, Hizdahr will be forced to show his true colors. Skahaz was obviously thinking that Noble Hizdahr Zo Loraq will turn his cloak again, instead of marching on the Quartheen, he will march to join the Quarth once the last dragon in Slaver’s Bay is dead. That was why Skahaz must have asked Grey Worm to take the unsullied to Meereen. Grey Worm will see Hizdahr not taking any action against Quarth, and he will declare his support for Skahaz. Marselen and Symon will be discredited, since they lost Rhaegal, and this will help Skahaz Shavepate to seize the power. If ever Daenerys came back, she will blame anyone from the Quartheen to the freedmen and to her own husband for her dragon’s death. But never Skahaz Mo Kandaq.

“We cannot let that happen.” Tyrion said to Morroqo.

The Red Priest nodded, “We cannot. The three headed dragon cannot lose one of its heads. Daenerys will need all three dragons in the fights she must fight. We cannot let Astapor fall.”

“I will ask Tomaqq to send someone to Symon with a message…”

“No one will be allowed to leave Astapor.” Morroqo said, “And even if they do, they won’t get to Symon Stripeback past Tal Toraq’s scouts.”

“Then we must convince Skahaz to let them come here.”

“I agree. But The Shavepate won’t trade Astapor for Meereen my lord. We need to promise him that he will get Meereen back. You will be that promise.”

“Me?”

“You. You are going to Meereen, from where Brown Ben Plumm means to take you to the sunset kingdoms. But we can’t allow that. You must be captured by Hizdahr’s men. You must surrender yourself and proclaim your loyalty to him, in exchange for a seat at his side. Hizdahr will comply, he will want one of the most popular of the Queen’s council beside him. You will be Skahaz’s man in Hizdahr’s council. That will also keep you here in Slaver’s Bay.”

And kill me soon. “If you haven’t noticed, The Shavepate thinks I betray as I breathe. Why will he trust me?”

“Why did Lord Mormont trust you?” Morroqo smiled, “For the prize of a dragon, of course.”


	36. Ronnel

The bodies pressed close together, but Ronnel pushed through them with ease. “Make way.” He said as he pried the people apart with his hands or shoulder, “Coming through”, he said pushing forward. “Brat.” Someone said as he stepped on their toes. Someone buffeted him on the head as he pushed past them. But Ronnel ignored them, as most of them ignored him.

There was excited chatter around him. The crowd was making him remember that day so long ago in King’s Landing, in front of the Great Sept of Baelor when he had been a girl named Arya. There had been a crowd there as well. It was a crowd thirsty for blood, and only the Ned Stark’s blood would sate their thirst.

But today was different. In not one, but many ways. That day so long ago, the girl Arya had been a crying, bloody mess. Today Ronnel was as excited as the crowd, if not more. That crowd had also been bigger, a lot bigger, on that day. But that had been King’s Landing, and this was only Maidenpool.

Also, that day the city had hated the Starks. King’s Landing had been convinced that the king’s own friend had betrayed the king’s son. “Past time, the traitor.” One man had said, thinking that they were going to behead Lord Eddard Stark and not knowing that he was right. “When has anything good ever come from the north?” the girl Arya seemed to recall hearing, but that might have been at someplace else. That day the crowd had yelled obscenities at and threw filth and stones at the Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, but today it was someone else they were cursing.

“Frey.” A man the girl Arya had known to be a butcher from her time in the city spat, “That’s the last one right there.” he said to his friend, “This is the time for wolves, I tell you.”

“That’s an eagle wielding the sword, fool” His friend replied, “He is the lord of the Vale.”

“Eagle, wolf, what’s it matter?” Complained the butcher, “They are together now again aren’t they? That Stark girl killed Joffrey. She beheaded all them Freys at the Twins herself I heard.” Some people around him scoffed at that, “She did!” The butcher protested, “This singer told me. She will kill all those that wronged them Starks and them Tullys, you just see.”

Ronnel grinned and pushed forward again. He didn’t believe the man’s tale, he knew what wild tales the smallfolk brewed. But the butcher was more right than he knew. _The Stark girl will kill all those that wronged them Starks and them Tullys_ , _just you see_. _Ser Illyn,_ Arya Stark thought, _Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei._ Only three left now. Dunsen had died on the voyage from Braavos to Maidenpool. No one knew how he had managed to topple over the railing into perfectly calm seas.

Ronnel reached the front of the throng just as the Lord of the Eyrie strode onto the stage. The Young Falcon was wearing a dark blue doublet with twin moons picked out in lapis lazuli on the front, while an eagle soared on his back. The crowd cheered at him and he waved back, smiling. Ronnel couldn’t help but cheer too. Somewhere inside him there was a disapproving voice, telling him that jumping up and down like this was not proper. _Justice is not for revenge,_ the voice said. It sounded like the voice Eddard Stark, who had been the Lord father of that girl Arya, and somewhat like her sister’s and mother’s as well. Ronnel pushed the voice aside. The girl Arya was not here. He was Ronnel of Tangy Town in the Grassy Vale, and he would cheer as he pleased. Though he managed not to throw anything at Frey.

The guards brought the prisoner on the stage. Edwyn Frey looked as if he was seeing the doors of hell in front of him. Even from here, Ronnel could smell his fear. Frey twisted and thrashed in the grasp of the guards, and pleaded for mercy. But the guards ignored him and put him on his knees in front of the Lord Hardying.

“‘We stand together’” Lord Harrold said to the prisoner in front of him, loud enough that the smallfolk gathered in front of the dais could hear, “Those are the words of your house. I meant to make them as ‘We die together’. But you eluded me, till now.” He unslung his sword from his scabbard to more cheers from the crowd. “But you can never elude justice.” He said slamming the point of the sword on the wooden dais and making Frey flinch.

Lord Harrold Hardying turned to face the people gathered. “Here before you stands a traitor. Not just a traitor to his king, but a traitor to the gods.” The crowd quieted to hear him better, and Ronnel himself leaned forward. “They killed the king. But they forgot to kill the gods. They killed the Young Wolf, but they couldn’t kill the pack.”

“Mecry” Frey cried, “Please, mother have mercy. I beg you…”

“Ask for mercy to the Father above when he judges you. I have already passed my judgement.” Lord Harry said to his prisoner coldly. Arya watched in a savage pleasure as Lord Hardying lifted his sword high up in the air. He raised his voice again and addressed the crowd. “Here in the sight of gods and men, in the name of the Princess Sansa of House Stark, I, Harrold Hardying, Lord of the Vale of Arryn and the true warden of the East, name you, Edwyn Frey, a traitor in the eyes of gods and men, and do sentence you to die.”

His sword descended in a flash. There was a sound like cheese being slashed by a knife, and the head and the body of the last living Frey parted ways. And this time Arya looked. This time there was no Yoren to stop her from looking, and she drank the cheers of the crowd as they swelled around her. She remembered how the statue of Baelor had rocked beneath her in King’s Landing when the crowd had surged against it upon hearing Joffrey condemn her father. This cheer was nothing compared to that. But this was only Maidenpool. Soon, it will be King’s Landing. And this time she won’t let Harrold Hardying steal her revenge.

Edwyn Frey was supposed to be hers. Was _going_ to be hers. When her ship to King’s Landing had been captured while rounding the Cracklaw Point, she had cursed her luck, thinking of all the distance she will have to travel overland and troubled by her memories from before when she had travelled through the riverlands trying to get to Riverrun. But her ship had been routed to Maidenpool, and when she saw who held the castle there, she had accepted it as another gift from the Many Faced God. She arrived in the town only a day before it was put under siege by Lord Yohn Royceo of Runestone. She spent the next week trying to get into the castle. The Freys weren’t admitting anyone in the castle, not even milkmaids, and the walls were patrolled day and night. Edwyn Frey had been frightened long before Lord Harrold came. He was afraid that Lord Beric or his lover Lady Stoneheart might be hiding in the city, waiting for a chance to get at him, so he had shut the castle tighter a maiden’s bedchamber, or so the smallfolk said. So Arya spent her time in the streets of Maidenpool, looking for a chance to get in before the knights of the vale decided to storm the walls. The talk in the city was that Lord Royce was waiting his overlord, some boy named Harrold Hardying who was now the lord of the Vale to come join him.

Then one day news came that Darry had fallen to Lord Hardying, and that he was on his way to Maidenpool. The smallfolk told each other how the lord Hardying had promised pardon to Ami Gatehouse, the lady of Darry, in exchange for surrender, only to renegade on the promise. “He paraded her naked in front of his soldiers, all the way through the camp and then gave her to the trench diggers.” One tanner’s boy told Arya. Everybody agreed that that was a kinder fate than what a Frey slut married to a Lannister deserved.

But Edwyn Frey emerged onto the walls of the town briefly that day, and that gave Arya the chance to slip into the castle. She had thought that her mission was complete then. But it wasn’t so. On the very first day she was chased by some guard through the alleys and courtyards until she hid under the kennelmaster’s bed, calming his dog with a few sweet words and some well placed caresses. When she came out in the late evening, keeping to the walls and creeping from shadow to shadow, she saw the reason why they knew she didn’t belong in the castle. The castle was full of soldiers and their squires, pages and cupbearers, but had almost next to none in numbers of servants and smallfolk. The only maester there was was kept locked inside his tower, under watch all day and night long. Edwyn Frey was frightened out of his wits. He had closed the castle tighter than a barrel full of wine. He was making the Tarly soldiers do all the work in the castle to avoid relying on someone who could betray him to Lord Beric and Thoros.

It was then that Arya had realized that she might have overestimated her abilities. She had on decent clothes, clothes she had taken from the House of Black and White. But she needed a squire’s get up. Stealing it was not hard, but while it permitted her to go and eat in the kitchens to quell her hunger, she couldn’t get to Edwyn Frey’s apartments. Only his trusted men were allowed in, and them too without any blades. The man’s paranoia was fraying the nerves of Tarly men, but the threat of Lord Yohn waiting outside the walls of Maidenpool was keeping them loyal. But all that only meant that it was near impossible for Arya to sneak in.

The day the castle fell, and the one before, Arya Stark had been engaged in a battle with herself. For half a week she had observed the guards around Frey’s solar. She knew things from when someone would go to take a piss to when they would yawn to when they changed shifts. She knew a way from behind the lord’s stables to go inside Frey’s apartments without being seen, and another to come outside before they realized what had happened. There was only one problem. She needed a face to get past the last door into Frey’s own apartments. In the house of black and white, the faces had become akin to stones on the ground for her. They were always there, and you could just choose one that serves your purpose and use it. But here that was not the case.

There was a boy, named Pug. He was the squire of Edwyn Frey’s right hand. _He serves a Frey._ She told herself. _He deserves to die. The face of Ser Rodrick’s squire will be the key to Frey’s door._ But she could never hold the thought. Even thinking so made her feel ‘shamed. She couldn’t kill a boy her own age just for serving someone she hated. Most like he didn’t even know he was wronging her. Who was Arya Stark to him and why should he pay the price for what Edwyn Frey had done to her.

But she had to make haste as well. Lord Harrold had just arrived in the siege camps outside and taken command of his army. The castle would be stormed sooner now rather than later. And Arya did not want to find out what happened to little girls who get into the paths of soldiers mad on bloodlust. She had seen it all too many times before, with Lommy Greenhands and Mycah and All-For-Joffrey, and they hadn’t even been girls. She hadn’t trained for over a year just to die of rape in the miserable town of Maidenpool.

But thankfully, she didn’t have to make that choice. The next morning she woke to the sound cries and ringing of a sword or two. It was a short battle. The Tarly soldiers had turned on the Freys. Arya slid back into the stables where she had been hiding, and she emerged only when the clashes of steel stopped ringing. Frey had had only fifty of his own men from either Darry or The Twins. The Tarly soldiers numbered about three hundred. The Freys were dead in minutes. That afternoon, or yesterday, the castle was surrendered to Lord Harrold of the Vale. Arya found a body at the below a window of the castle sept. It was a boy she had never seen in the castle before. Soon the boy was walking around the castle again, looking for his master.

Right now his master was waiting for him a little away from the crowd, standing a few shops over to the side, watching the proceedings on the dais from a distance. On the dais, the high lords started stepping off and the crowd around Ronnel started thinning. Edwyn Frey’s headless body was being carried off, while two squires were throwing his head between themselves as if it were a watermelon. Ronnel gave them a glance and turned around to go to his master.

The knight he approached was armored head to toe. His hands were clasped on the hilt of his longsword whose tip rested on the ground. His cloak identified him as a Tarly soldier. But Ronnel knew it to be a lie. “It is done Ser.” He said to the knight coming to a stop before him. “Edwyn Frey is with the gods now. May the Father judge him justly.”

“Yes, I saw it being done Ronnel.” Ser Loras Tyrell replied mildly. “And even if I hadn’t, the cheers and the jeers have probably let it known in King’s Landing as well.”

Ronnel felt sheepish. “Should we return to the castle?” He asked, wanting to change the subject.

To his surprise, Ser Loras shook his head. “Ser Jacelyn’s told me Hardying means to ride for Saltpans first thing tomorrow. We are meeting with him right now in some inn called the Stinking Goose.”

“Right now? Does he know who…?”

Ser Loras shushed him, looking around. “Keep a lid on that trap boy. I am just a mere soldier, for now.” He paused and softened his tone, “Ser Jacelyn’s merely told him to come find out why he got the town so easily and as a gift. He will find out what he will if he comes to the inn, alone. He probably thinks he is going to meet Dickon.”

Dickon was Lord Randyll Tarly’s son. Lord Tarly had taken him south with him when he left to rescue Queen Margaery from the High Septon’s grasp. Lord Harrold may think that Dickon had been left here in secret and Lord Tarly had commanded him from Highgarden to surrender the city to Lord Harrold as an offering of an alliance. And he wouldn’t be too far off in that guess. Only it was Ser Loras Tyrell here in place of Dickon. He had been the one that had met with Ser Jacelyn the night before last in secret to conspire against Edwyn Frey.

They left the docks shortly after, with Ronnel biting his lip about this hasty development. He didn’t know enough about anything yet. Not about Ser Loras Tyrell and why he was here. Not about Lord Hardying. Not about Ronnel himself. And he could sense that there was something to know. He could feel it in the way Loras Tyrell talked. It would have been easier if Ronnel could see the man’s face. Lies were easier to be read from faces than from just voices, but Ser Loras never took off his helm. Nor did Ronnel think he could see lies on a burned face.

Maybe he might slip something if I keep him talking. Ronnel thought, “Merchants out of Gulltown.” He said pointing to some new tents being erected by the Sea Road of Maidenpool. “He is bringing food and provision for the people of Maidenpool.”

Ser Loras looked over his shoulder over to the docks before answering Ronnel. “He’s taking over feeding the riverlands.” He said, “The grain is already flowing out of the Twins along the trident, in the name of Edmure Tully’s wife and child. Maybe he means to open another flow from Maidenpool.”

“But why? Doesn’t he have his own smallfolk to feed? And winter is here too.” Ronnel felt as if he was talking to a suit of armor, most of men at least took off their helm when not in battle. But Ser Loras didn’t want anyone to recognize him. The world thought the Knight of Flowers dead, and Ser Loras meant to keep it that way. Maybe it would be better if I just killed him now, lest he manage to keep something from me.

Ser Loras shrugged as way of replying to Ronnel, “He sent half his army away with Sansa Stark. He currently only commands fifteen thousand men, less than half of what my brother is bringing to King’s Landing. He wants to swell his numbers, but the riverlords won’t rise for him for fear of what might happen to their hostages who are now in Lord Connington’s captivity.” He looked at Ronnel, “You may recall how your high sparrow told us that Hardying had been paying visits to the various riverlords in secrecy.” Ronnel nodded, pretending he remembered. But in truth it did make sense. Harrold Hardying had taken an awfully long time to make the trip from the Twins to Maidenpool. No one really knew where he had been before he appeared at Darry. But he was also confused. What did Ser Loras mean by Ronnel’s High Sparrow? “None of them have joined him though,” Ser Loras continued, “So he is trying to get the smallfolk to join him. The best way to make a man yours is to feed him when he is hungry.”

“Maybe he didn’t even ask for the riverlords to join him.” Ronnel said with a hint of pride in his voice at his guess, “Maybe he was just asking them not to oppose him.”

“’Cause none have.” Loras inclined his head, “You have a fine head for a Warrior’s Son lad. Just practice the sword more than your prayers, and you will turn out okay.”

I am no good with swords, Ronnel made a mental note. Also he was a Warrior’s Son, sworn to defend the faith. One of the High Septon’s sword. That was important, the Kindly Man had once told the girl Arya. Know the person you are becoming inside and out. That’s how you fool even those who were his closest. _The next time I am practicing in the yard, I will make sure to end up on my butt._ He felt Ser Loras touch him on the shoulder. “That seems to be it.”

The inn was beneath a knacker’s barn, which seemed to be deserted but for a single man. Ser Jacelyn Keen was waiting for them. He bowed to Ser Loras and nodded to Ronnel. They descended the steps to the inn in silence.

Downstairs, the inn seemed crowded. But it were all Lord Hardying’s soldiers, all crowded around the tables passing flagons of ale between themselves and talking about how Edwyn Frey pissed all over Lord Hardying’s shoes just before he was beheaded. Ser Loras and Ser Jacelyn ignored them as they made their way across the pub. On the other side were the rooms. Ser Jacelyn pointed to a door. “He’s in that one. He wants you tell him that you are a messenger from me. Say that it’s urgent.” He hung back as Ser Loras and Ronnel went to the door and knocked.

The door was opened by a crack by boy a few years older than Ronnel, letting a shaft of firelight out over the opposite wall. “Who is it?” he asked looking Ser Loras up and down. Ronnel saw him noting the Tarly brooch that fastened Loras’ cloak in front of his neck.

“Ser Jacelyn has a message for Lord Hardying.” Loras told the boy. “How did you know he would be here?” The boy asked suspiciously.

Loras clearly wasn’t prepared for that question. But a voice came from inside, “Just let them in Gyles.” The boy opened the door.

Inside, Lord Harrold sat on the bed, still in his armor, his sword on the table by the bed, with a whore on his lap. The color rose up in Ronnel’s face. Wasn’t Harrold Hardying supposed to be marrying Sansa Stark of the north?

“I bear a message from Ser Jacelyn, m’lord. Its urgent.” Loras said to Lord Hardying. “Don’t you see he is busy?” The women in his lap asked in an annoyed voice, “Go tell Ser Jacey to come back later. Ser Lacey’s caught m’lord for now. And she wants her ransom.” She flipped her hair and looked at the Lord with a seductive look.

Harrold Hardying sighed, though Ronnel could see that it was an exaggerated sigh. “As much as it pains me m’lady, I must attend to this.” He pinched her cheeks, “But you will have your ransom. I would never skimp such a warrior of looks as yourself of her ransom. Why don’t you take it from Gyles here? He killed his first man on our way to Maidenpool. An outlaw he was. It is time he became a man.”

The boy Gyles looked like all his namedays had come at once. “An outlaw?” The women cooed in a falsely impressed voice. Ronnel could hear the disappointment in her voice, though it was well guarded. The whore rose from Hardying’s lap and went over to the boy that was shorter than her, “The outlaws frighten me so much, I can’t sleep sometimes. Will you help me sleep, my lord?” She asked making eyes at the boy who suddenly looked like he was seeing a woman for the first time.

“Are you satisfied with my secrecy, my… whoever you are?” Lord Harrold asked after his squire had left with the whore, an amused smile still on his face at the boy’s reaction. “May I ask why you want me to keep this meet a secret from my…” He stopped, sudden surprise on his face. Ser Loras had taken off his helm.

From surprise to wonderment and then to delight and curiosity, Lord Hardying’s face finally settled on an expression as if he had solved a riddle. “You are hiding from Bronze Yohn Royce.” He said.

Ser Loras grimaced, making his scars twitch and fold. “I wouldn’t have said hiding, but it is the truth I suppose.” He said slowly, “Robar was a good friend to me. On any other day, I would have flung myself on my knees in front of Lord Royce and asked for his forgiveness. But today too much is at stake. I am here for my king.”

“Yes. Little Tommen.” Harrold Hardying rose from his bed and walked over to a table where a barrel of wine was kept. He picked up two glasses. “Is your squire old enough to drink wine?” It was clearly an attempt to buy time to Lord Harrold to think of what all Ser Loras’ appearance here could mean, not to forget the fact that he wasn’t dead.

“No he isn’t. But I would thank you for a glass.” Ser Loras said. Lord Hardying extended him a cup. “Lord Yohn was sad when he heard you were killed. He wanted to do the honors himself.” He waved Loras to a chair. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Loras sat himself on a table while Ronnel backed to a wall and leaned against it. From here he could see both the men and their faces. “I did not die.” The man with the burned face declared. He waved at Ronnel, “Ronnel here saved me. He was a squire to one of the high septon’s men, only he took a fancy to one of my sister’s ladies in waiting. He couldn’t abide the High Septon’s betrayal of the true king. He was the one that found me wounded in the dry moat and helped me hide while the high sparrow took the castle with that wretch Bronn.”

Ronnel did his best to blush and look uncomfortable, all the while digesting the fact that every word out of Ser Loras’ mouth was a lie. He could hear it in his voice. _I shouldn’t have let this meet take place. Gods know what he is going to lead Lord Hardying to believe with his lies._

“It is a good fortune to get a good squire.” Lord Harrold sighed, “Mine own is a clutz. He was a squire to Lord Robert before him, and I thought it would look good if he served me as well.” He nodded to the door, “That outlaw I mentioned, he died when he fell off his horse and broke his neck while he was chasing Gyles. The horse had stumbled you see, because Gyles had fallen down in its path.”

He paused, “Enough of this now. My men think I am with a woman, and they won’t disturb me. But I still have limited time. Let’s discuss why we are here. You are here to ask me to help you rescue Tommen from the clutches of the Griffin Lord. And in exchange, you will offer me Myrcella Lannister, or maybe Arianne Martell.”

Ser Loras was taken aback. “I… How could you know that I meant to offer you Myrcella?”

“It was just a guess. And it also helped that I got a similar offer from Lord Jon Connington and Aegon. He all but said that Casterley Rock or Sunspear, it didn’t matter, both will be better than Winterfell which I am already not getting. He sounded quite desparate.”

Ronnel saw that Ser Loras couldn’t help but gulp, “So you mean to offer the Iron Throne to a foreigner?”

“Yes. That is the plan. Though I would remind you that this is the foreigner whose grandsire your father supported to the bitter end.”

“I am not my father.” Loras snapped, “Neither is my brother. Garlan has more than thirty thousand men. And he has joined his strength to that of Lancel’s. Another army is also coming down from the west. We will be more than you and Conninton combined when we march on King’s Landing.”

“Yes, but you will be outside the city.” Lord Harrold threw his hands in the air in mock frustration, “Come now ser, try to see it from my point of view. There are two kings in need of rescue. One of them is not just surrounded by the enemy but by a city and a castle wall as well. It’s just easier for me to rescue Aegon. Besides, what are you offering me that Connington isn’t?”

Ser Loras stood up, and Ronnel straightened as well, “I suppose I am not offering you anything more.” Loras said, “I just thought that friendship meant something to Lady Sansa. My sister Margaery was a friend to her at the Red Keep. Yet she killed her husband. And now she is gearing up to do the same again. I told her not to hold onto the hope that the girl was innocent. I am quite disappointed to be proven right.”

“You are lying,” Lord Hardying smirked “You are sad to be proven right. ‘Cause it means Sansa won’t help you.” His smile widened, “But in any case, it wasn’t Sansa that killed Joffrey, surely you know that.”

“Was it the imp then?”

Lord Harry looked surprised, “You don’t know, do you? Well, you won’t believe me if I told you, so why waste my breath. What’s more important is for you to understand that Sansa doesn’t mean Queen Margaery any harm. Sansa has actually told me about how the soon to be Queen comforted her in her time at the Red Keep. It is only because she wants to return the favor that I am willing to forget that you thought I would betray my word to her for a castle and a bit of gold. Sit down Ser, and we can talk about how I can help you. Just know one thing before sitting,” He held up one finger, “Tommen will have to bend the knee. And his mother will have to visit the executioner’s block. Just once, I promise.”

After hesitating a moment, the knight of flowers sat down. Lord Hardying smiled, but Ronnel immediately saw that the burned knight was already planning to betray Hardying. The realization sent chills down his spine. He could see that the white knight had no intention of making his king bend the knee.

When the meet wound up, Ronnel and Loras Tyrell made their way back to the castle in silence. The sky was full of clouds, and the sun was a bright spot behind them just listing to the west. It was already very cold, but Ronnel wasn’t aware of that. He was bursting with questions. But he kept his mouth shut until they entered the apartments that Lord Hardying had given to Ser Jacelyn. “What does it mean?” He asked once the door was shut, not expecting his question to be answered. If he couldn’t be sure of what the Knight of Flowers was planning, he would have to deliver him to the Many Faced God this very night.

“It means that we will have to do what I didn’t want to resort to.” Ser Loras answered him, “Let Hardying dream of an easy win, he won’t know what hit him when we attack him at King’s Landing.” He took off his helm and threw it on the bed. His face reminded Ronnel of the hound from the girl Arya’s memories, only Ser Loras was ten times uglier. He remembered how Sasna Stark and her friend had fallen in love with the knight of flowers. Will she forgive me of killing him? Will Arya tell her? She got ready to spring on him the moment he turned his back on her.

“Take a parchment and quill out.” Ser Loras said to Ronnel, “I will write a letter for you to take back to King’s Landing.”

The day remained cloudy as evening approached. The wind picked up and the snow began falling just as the sun disappeared behind the walls. In the cold room The Knight of Flowers wrapped himself in the blankets after supper, and his squire slept in a bed beside him. It didn’t take long for Ser Loras to fall asleep. When his breath eased into one steady flow, Ronnel tiptoed out of his bed where the letter was hidden.

Outside, the castle was quiet, even though the guards prowled around the walls and the last of the pages and servants ran across the snow covered paths. Ronnel had on his squire’s raiment and he walked with a purpose, so no one stopped him. He went to eastern tower of the main hall that held the Lord’s Chambers. Like he had hoped, the squire was still here and hadn’t gone to bed yet. “Gyles.” He called the boy, “Ser Jacelyn has another message for Lord Harrold. It’s very urgent.”

Lord Harrdying sighed when he saw Ronnel. Again he had a whore in his bed. “Stop eyeing her like she is candy.” He snapped at Gyles. “Call Terrance. Its his turn now. And this is the last time you are getting eating off my plate.”

Gyles left with his face down, and returned shortly with another boy. Lord Harrold sent the whore off with a slap on the bum, making her giggle and sashay out of the room. “What message is it now?” Lord Harrold asked Ronnel once the doors were closed.

Ronnel handed him the letter Ser Loras had written that afternoon.

Lord Hardying eyed the letter. Upon reading the first line, he sat up straight. Ronnel could see that he had started to read it again from the beginning. Ronnel knew how it went. _He wants me to betray Tommen._ Ser Loras had written, _I’ve told him that I will go to Garlan and make him arrest Lancel and release Aegon. I assure you that it won’t happen. Keep my king and my sister safe. We will be at King’s Landing soon, and I will repent of my sins._ It was signed as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

Once he had finished, Lord Hardying looked Ronnel, “He means to betray me.” It was not a question. “Who is this really meant for?”

“I am supposed to leave for King’s Landing tomorrow with Ser Jacelyn, to deliver this letter to the high septon.” Lord Harrold looked surprised. Ronnel continued, “I was in his service before, the high septon’s. He gave me to Ser Loras ‘cause his own squires had died and he couldn’t take anyone else lest Ser Bronn found out.”

“The high septon betrayed Tommen. He helped Ser Bronn take the Red Keep.”

“I don’t know much about what happened. What I know is that when Ser Garlan and Ser Loras march on King’s Landing, the High Septon is going to betray Lord Connington. Faced with enemies inside the castle as well as outside, Connington won’t last long.” Ronnel only knew this because Ser Loras had warned him of the upcoming battle, “Keep yourself near the king and his royal wife.” He had said, “I would like my squire back after I take my place at Tommen’s side. Good squires are hard to come by.” At his words, Ronnel had decided not to kill him just yet. But he had had to warn the Vale Lord.

Ser Harrold was studying the letter again, frowning. “He will also have the dornish princess.” He muttered, “It doesn’t look good for Aegon does it? Once the Red Keep falls, with Tommen in guard of the High Septon’s swords, it’s all over.” He crumpled the paper in his fist, “But he betrayed the king.” He complained, “The High Sparrow. This isn’t fair. And Loras Tyrell too. Once a traitor always a traitor, that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Was he really whining? “Maybe not always.” Ronnel said. He had detected a hint of shame in Loras’s voice whenever he talked about the High Septon, “Ser Loras didn’t like the High Septon before, but then he saved his life, and is now putting himself in harm’s way to save the king and the queen. He is even lying to the Aegon’s hand for his king.”

“Yes, I suppose to someone like Loras Tyrell that will not look completely stupid,” Hardying said dryly, “but something to admire.”

It was time. “I can help.” Ronnel said, “I am going to King’s Landing. I will be admitted to the Red Keep. Tell me how I can help Aegon win.”

Lord Harrold looked at Ronnel curiously, “Why would you want to help Aegon? What’s he to you? You are Ser Loras’ squire. You used to serve the High Sparrow before that. Why betray them?”

Ronnel had his lie ready, “Aegon means nothing to me. Only, I heard that the lady of the north was going to declare for him. That’s why.”

“What’s lady of the north to you?”

Ronnel recited the lie further, “My king’s sister. My father served in the Young Wolf’s army. Only they killed him at the Red Wedding. I ran and lived. A farmer found me and hid me from the Frey that were hunting any northmen that might have escaped. When the High Septon announced that the Faith needed swords, I left the farm and made my way to King’s Landing. I was good with the sword, Ser Wallace took me as a squire. He was there when King’s Landing fell. When His High Holiness offered me a chance to go to the lord who had saved my king’s sister, I knew I had to take it.” Ronnel stepped forward and lowered his voice, “I can help. Tell me what to do. I am very resourceful.” Ronnel didn’t want to tell him how. Not yet, “If you want to know what’s happening in the red keep, I can send you messages.” He would find a way, he was sure. “If you want someone killed, I can do that. The high septon is nothing to me. I keep the old gods. Do you want him dead? I can do that.”

Lord Harry was startled, “Kill the High Septon? Are you crazy?”

“It’s the high septon that’s protecting Tommen and his wife. If he is dead, who else is there to betray Aegon’s lords?”

Lord Hardying hesitated for a moment. “Your previous master for one, Ser Wallace. And whoever else that High Septon’s confided in.”

Ronnel paused. Ser Wallace didn’t exist out of his lies, but the Young Falcon was right. The High Septon’s men might know. And it would be difficult to get rid of them all. “Tommen then.” He said finally, “It is for Tommen that Ser Loras and the High Septon are doing this. If he is dead, the Tyrells will bend the knee.” Tommen was just a boy, but so had been Robb. True, Robb had been a man grown when he was murdered, but he had still been too young to die. Even Arya’s father. In the world of kings and lords, it didn’t matter how old you were. It wasn’t the same as killing some squire. It wasn’t.

“You can kill Tommen?” Lord Hardying was skeptical, “How old are you exactly.”

“Don’t you worry about that.” Ronnel snapped, “I said I could, didn’t I? Just give me back the letter and I will take it to King’s Landing. And soon Tommen will be dead.”

Hardying looked at the letter, “I’ve broken the seal. Ser Loras will know someone’s read it.”

“He didn’t use any mark on the wax.” Ronnel pointed out, “Just seal it with blue wax and give it to me. I will fool Ser Loras and the High Septon both. When you hear that Tommen is dead, make sure the Tyrells bend the knee.”

Hardying was still looking skeptical. But Ronnel could see that he was thinking. “Even if you did manage to kill Tommen, the Tyrells might not bend the knee.” He said looking carefully at Ronnel, “The truth is that Aegon’s men have been trying to get me to renounce my proposed marriage to Lady Sansa. Aegon wrote to me himself before he was captured. He won’t let Sansa escape her marriage to the imp, he owes the imp his life. He offered me a marriage with the princess of Dorne if I could get Sansa to give up her support for Selyse. By making Ser Loras rescue him from Lancel Lannister’s camp, I was hoping to get him to agree to set the marriage aside. But if…”

“What?”

“No matter how loyal Ser Loras thinks he is to Tommen right now, he will be reminded of reality once the boy is dead. He will see that his sister isn’t queen anymore, and that Selyse Baratheon who would like nothing better than to burn Renly’s erstwhile wife on a stake would be gaining power. But he will have Aegon in his captivity. He will make Aegon marry Margaery Tyrell. The war will go on.”

Ronnel nodded, letting it all sink in. “Margaery Tyrell needs to die as well.” He suddenly remembered something else. “But wait,” He said, “If the both of them die, won’t the Tyrells and the Lannister Lord kill Aegon himself.”

“That’s okay. That’s okay.” Hardying said quickly, almost rising off the bed, “A dead Aegon is better for us than one married to Margaery Tyrell.”

Ronnel was mortified. "You'd let him die? You were going to take him for a king."

"He doesn't want to become our king anyway." Lord Hardying said, "With both Tommen and Aegon dead, the south won't be much of a threat to my betrothed." He stood up, frowning, "I can't say I like explaining things now anymore, I've become too accostumed to giving orders, or making deals. How about I promise that I will try to save Aegon?"

Ronnel nodded, far from satisfied, but he could see his points. Sansa probably wouldn’t like that, three people dead on her account. But she didn’t really need to know. Her sister had never been one with a strong stomach, the way Arya Stark saw it, she was saving her sister a few hard decisions. She said the names, “Tommen Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell. The both of them will die before the Tyrell army reaches King’s Landing. I promise you. Try to save Aegon if you can.”


	37. Davos I

Each man wore stunned looks by the time the Maid of Tarth finished her tale. Nobody seemed to know what to say. It seemed to Davos almost as if he could hear them all thinking. How could this happen? We were winning, and now…

When the fire had started, Davos had felt the beginning fear take hold of his stomach. He couldn’t explain it. The fire had been an unseen monster, letting them know of its presence only by the smoke on the horizon. Yet Davos couldn’t help but feel ominous. It made no sense. He had won his first battle against that fire. When The Bastard of Boltons had stopped in his path to Winterfell because of the wildfire, Davos had pinned him against the lethal, fiery wall and destroyed his army. He had taken the bastard prisoner, and chained him up in Stane’s camp. But still he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Now he knew.

“Madness. Pure madness.” Otherys Crowl rumbled. He looked at Davos. “And I suppose you knew what monsters you were riding with. That’s why you didn’t join her with little Rickon right away, didn’t you? You’re a sensible man. You wanted to get power in your own right so you could rein those two women in.”

Davos looked away. It was true, what Crowl had said. When he had come to Eastwatch to find his king fallen, he had been faced with a choice. The Skagosi chieftains had been against him making Jon Snow march with Selyse. Osha had pointed out that Selyse would make Rickon a hostage, and raise Jon Snow to be the lord of Witnerfell so that he could lead her armies. Calot Magnar held that the Night’s Watch took no part in the squabbles of the south, and he would hear nothing about making the lord commander march to Winterfell with a sword in hand. But Davos had convinced them. “Stannis tried to give him the title, the title of Lord of Winterfell, and offered to remove the taint of bastardy from his name.” He told Calot and Osha. “Snow refused, instead choosing to become the lord commander of the night’s watch.” This he had known himself, having read it from one of Stannis’ letters before he had sailed for White Harbor. Else he found out from what Ser Justin and the banker Tycho Nestoris had told him. “He only tried to march south to help his sister, to rescue her from Ramsay Snow.” He told them of the letter, and the threats Ramsay Snow had made. Ser Glendon had told him about Snow’s stabbing and alleged revival, and he told them about that. The letter had been enough to convince Magnar. To Osha he had told his plan to attack Dreadfort by sailing up the weeping water in secret. “If I can get Dreadfort for him, I can unite half the north under Rickon. Then Selyse will have no choice but to accept Rickon Stark as the lord of Winterfell.”

But now he felt differently. He had done what was good for Rickon Stark, to keep him safe from Selyse and Melisandre. But he had forgotten to keep Selyse and Melisandre safe from themselves. And Shireen… Poor Shireen, what she had been subjected to. He couldn’t imagine what horror that sweet girl must have felt as she had watched her mother trying to set her on fire. How could she bear it? How could Davos have left her alone to deal with those two madwomen?

Harwin Stane was thinking about something else however. He addressed Brienne of Tarth in a disbelieving tone, “She gave Bolton her own men? Have the Mormonts gone mad? And the Wulls and the Liddles too? We skagosi never much cared for the Starks, but I know the lot of them did. I call at Eastwatch from time to time. I heard them telling that the north was furious at the Red Wedding. What happened to ‘The North Remembers’? How could they just forget all that and get in bed with the Boltons? Over just a little fire?”

“The northmen hold the wolfswood dear.” Calot Magnar said before Lady Brienne could speak. “At least those living on the mainland do. The forest means nothing to me, but for them it’s a different matter. And the fire couldn’t have happened at a worse time. In winter, the woods give shelter to thousands from the worst of the winds. When the crops stop growing, the men can turn to the game in the forest. For many, their livelihood depends on the forest even in the summer. But now all that is gone. Add to this what that Red Witch tried to do… necromancy is considered foul even in Skagos. The onion lord’s been telling us that she told the world that Stannis will lead the fight against the others, and then she herself tries to wake the dead? I can understand why Alysanne Mormont would want to get rid of Lord Seaworth, but why make common cause with the Boltons?”

“It’s because of Lady Catelyn, my lord.” Brienne of Tarth answered. The woman seemed tired, as if the world had become too much for her to bear. She had told them about how Catelyn Stark was alive, and captured. “Alysanne Mormont herself took me aside to tell me to explain this to you. She wants me to advise you against using her alliance with the Boltons to turn the Blackfish and Sansa Stark against her. For she is doing this for Sansa Stark only. The only way Roose Bolton will let Lady Stark reunite with her daughter is for a pardon. No one has forgotten the red wedding, or the fact that the wildling king now rides with Roose Bolton. But the capture of Lady Stark complicates the matter. The only way to save her might be for Lady Sansa to pardon Bolton. This alliance is just a way to keep that option open, so that Brynden Blackfish and his niece can make a decision. And the men that Lady Mormont sent to Winterfell to help defend it against Howland Reed? They are there in the case that Lady Sansa decided not to pardon Bolton, but would still like her mother back. They are there to betray Bolton from the inside when he is attacked by the Blackfish.”

Calot Magnar snorted, “Roose Bolton would never fall for such an obvious trick.”

Lady Brienne shrugged, “Alysanne Mormont was willing to take that risk. In her eyes, a hundred men are a small price for her lord’s wife, no matter how horrible she looks now.”

And she thinks that Shireen was the price for Rickon Stark, Davos thought. His head was numb, and all this talk of alliances was only making it ache. Osha glanced at him once, “All this if fine, but it doesn’t concern us.” She said, “She wants an exchange, she’ll get an exchange.” She looked at Brienne, “Are there any other terms?”

“They want you to send your army, the southron knights and whoever that wants to accompany you to the south, to White Harbor. All others Lord Davos himself must lead to Winterfell. Morgan Liddle has gone to Lord Reed’s camp, and he will be taking their command. Once you arrive and hand over Rickon Stark to them, you will get your queen Shireen,” Brienne gestured toward Davos, “and your son Devan. You will then be given a safe passage to White Harbor, and whatever ships Lord Manderley decides to give you.”

All eyes turned to Davos. _Take the offer,_ he could hear them thinking. And if I refuse, who will stand with me? Harmun Stane, the grandsire of Harwin Stane and the chief of the tribe of Stane, had warned him that the Skagosi will fight knights in the south for Dragonglass, but they won’t fight the northmen on the mainland. “We can’t incur their wrath, not in this winter.” He had said to Davos, “Neither can you.” The others in Davos’ army were Karhold men led by Sigorn the Magnar who would probably want to go join Roose Bolton and Mance Rayder. Then were Umber men, Hornwood men in the army as well, who had fled from Ramsay Bolton’s army after the bastard had killed Hothor Umber, but they had even lower chances of fighting against the mountain clans.

And what will Davos even gain by fighting them? You don’t fight someone for their support. If they didn’t want to help him, he couldn’t make them. Not even with promises of lands and castles in the south. These were proud northern lords, they had ample lands in the north itself. There was no choice here. There was nothing for him and Shireen in the north but corpses.

Davos looked up at the men and women that were watching him. “My lords, if I went south without an army, I will have no men to win Shireen’s throne for her. You can’t mean to make us sail into death, after all Stannis did for you. After I brought Rickon Stark back. The Mountain Clans can’t just ignore it.”

“They don’t mean to.” Brienne said, “They are giving you the Kingslayer just for this. Alysanne Mormont didn’t want him in the hands of Roose Bolton, who could have used him to bring help from King’s Landing, or could have offered his head to Sansa Stark as a way of trying to get in her good graces. She sent him with me so that you could have a bargaining chip in the south.” For some reason, the lady’s voice grew strained, “If you offer Aegon Targaryen the man who murdered his grandsire, he might take you under his protection, and Shireen.”

“You mean he will let me bend the knee.” Davos said bitterly. “The heir of King Stannis Baratheon, first of his name, who was the brother of the man that vanquished the Targaryens, as a vassal of Aegon Targaryen the sixth.” If Stannis were here, he would take the head of any man that dared to voice that thought.

“There is no sense in fighting a battle which will only kill you Davos.” Lord Lester Morrigon said from beside Brienne. The man was seated on a stool, slumping as if the weight of his armor had become too much for him. He had come to Davos’ camp with Brienne, leading about a thousand southron knights who were all that were left of the army that had come north with Stannis. Kicked out like a dog from the northern camp of the Mountain Clans, they had crept into Davos’ camp defeated. Davos could understand their weariness, but the treatment the lords and the knights gave him, though nothing new, had infuriated him. They all talked as if the decision was already made and all Davos was here to do was to buy them ships like a good smuggler. They had already given up. “You must know a lot about death,” Davos snapped at the man, “Seeing as how you managed to outlive most of the royal family through all the battles.”

Lord Morrigon lurched to his feet, “Watch your tongue smuggler. I fought as much as the gods allowed me, it was this bitch that killed Selyse.” He made a rude gesture toward Brienne, “I wasn’t there. If I had…” He paused, clearly not wanting to say ‘Shireen would have burned to wake her father.’ “Think about Shireen,” He said instead, “if you won’t think about me or the men I brought back through this wretched burning forest. Do you want her to end up as a head on a spike on the Traitor’s Walk?”

No. Davos thought. That sweet innocent girl deserves better than what the world has offered her so far. “Stannis wanted us to fight on for her.” He told the angry lord as much as he told himself, “Ser Justin said so. He told him that even if he heard that the king was dead, he was to continue buying sellswords, and send them to Shireen so that she may one day sit the Iron Throne.”

“Shireen will never sit the Iron Throne, get that through your head. ‘Stannis wanted us to fight on for her’” Morrigon mimicked Davos mockingly, “Stannis also wanted you to become hand. Do you really want to test how much power you have?”

Davos’ face was stone. He had been wondering how long it would take for things to come to this. To Stannis’ lords, both King’s men and Queen’s men alike, Davos Seaworth was nothing but an upjumped smuggler to whome Stannis paid too much heed to over better, more deserving and well born lords. They chafed about the fact that now Davos had an army and they had to take orders from him. They would follow Davos however, but only as long as Davos led them to where they wanted to go.

Before Davos could say something to Lord Morrigon though, Harwin stood up. “This man is the reason that you are not dead and buried under the snow.” He said pointing to Davos. “Is this your way of thanking him, by threatening him? You would do well to remember in whose camp you are, my lord of the south.”

Lord Morrigon regarded the cannibal with contempt. “The Golden Company has my home.” He said to Harwin, “Like as not they have his as well. Are you telling me you will help him win it back, boy?” When Harwin didn’t reply, he snorted and left the tent.

Otherys Crowl sighed. “Regardless of the threats, the man spoke the truth.” He said to Davos. “It’s your queen, and it is your life, to do with as you see fit. But if you were to take advice from someone with whom you rode into battle, I would advise you to bend the knee, Onion Lord.”

Davos looked at him, “So you mean to just use me, just to get the dragonglass you need.” He hadn’t meant to accuse Crowl thus, but his desperation was making his tongue loose.

But Crowl accepted what Davos had said, “We can’t help you in the south,” He said shrugging, “That’s the honest truth. You are a good man, and I would loathe to abandon you. But we came south for the obsidian. Might be we can stay with you long enough to make sure the dragonking pardons you. Having an army beside you will get you better terms, I think.”

Davos suddenly pictured the cannibals walking through the streets of King’s Landing, climbing Aegon’s hill to get into the red keep and asking the noblemen of the Red Keep for a pardon for Davos. They are more likely to set Cersei Lannister on the Iron Throne than negotiate with cannibals. He looked down, wanting to wind up this meeting so he could be alone. “There will be no need of that.” He said in a resigned tone. “Most like, it will be Lord Morrigon and his ilk that will go and parley with Lord Jon Connington. I will go back home with my tail between my legs, and my sails white.” He hoped at least Marya and his sons will not look to him and see only a failure, or call him a craven and a traiter.

They decided to wait out the fire before marching. All their efforts to stop it had been in vain. The fireline was too long, and most of the Skagosi didn’t want to go near the fire. “It smells foul” Davos had heard one man complain to Crowl. The Umbers and the other northmen were too few to cut a tree line fast enough through the forest to stop the fire. The Karhold men were being led by Sigorn who didn’t care at all about the wolfswood.

Davos himself had stopped caring. He knew it was wrong. He knew that he was the hand of the king, and that it was his duty to help his king’s people. But the northmen had rejected Stannis. They had even marched in the army that had killed him. Now they were driving Davos and Shireen out of the north to uncertain fates in south. Davos knew what Stannis’ response to this would have been. Stannis Baratheon wouldn’t have cared what the smallfolk or the other lords thought of him. He would have done his duty, like he did when he came to the help of the Night’s Watch. But Davos Seaworth was not Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seasworth was just a man who was angry at the northmen. And at himself, for failing his king.

 _I tried._ Davos would say to his king from time to time. _I tried your grace, but I was too late._ But Stannis was dead and he wouldn’t answer. Davos kept remembering the vision he had seen as he had hung in a cell in Magnar’s dungeons at Skagos. There had been a torch burning outside the cell, casting light inside through the bars. It had reminded him of the cell he had briefly occupied at Dragonstone. He had been thinking about it as he gazed at the flame, and for a moment he had thought that he had seen Melisandre’s face in the flame. When he looked again though, he saw that it was Stannis. The king was lying in snow, snow that was deep red from blood. He was gazing at Davos, asking him why he was taking so long. All his time in Skagos after that, and on the ship back to Eastwatch, he had prayed that the vision was just a trick of an afraid mind. But then he heard about Stannis’ death from Ser Justin at Eastwatch. It had felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

At Eastwatch, Ser Justin had helped Davos out of his grief, and together they had turned the tides around for Shireen. If Maester Pylos had been right and a kingdom was just like a ship, the tides had turned again for this ship, and this time even Davos couldn’t see how to guide his fleet. Most he could do was to smuggle Shireen to safety, by making her bend the knee. He heard Stannis’ voice again when he thought of this. _Once a smuggler, always a smuggler._ His king said, a _nd here I thought you could be my hand._ I tried your grace, Davos answered. I tried but I was too late and too far away. Then I tried again and again I was too late and too far away. He wondered how many nights he would say this to himself before going to sleep.

Two days later, the early afternoon saw Davos and a few of his companions on the banks of the White Knife, where the river exited from the Long Lake to begin its journey south. On the other side of the river, the fire advanced steadily to where the forest ended. The smoke was thick in the air, blowing from the fireline in black clouds. It was making Davos’ eyes water. He could understand why they would call it an unnatural fire. It was too bright and too red. And very hot. The smoke was too dark and thick and smelled like rotting flesh, at least to Davos. And it hadn’t snowed at all in the past week and a half.

Only the last few lines of the woods remained by now, bending away from the fire as if that will save them. Davos and his companions, Osha and little Rickon with his wolf, Otherys Crowl and Harwin Stane watched them burning one by one from their horses. Lady Brienne had come as well, if only because she wanted to get away from the southron camp where every man she laid eyes on gave her nasty looks and promised vengeance for their queens. She kept close to Davos, her hands in chains. “It seems as if it won’t stop just with the trees.” She said to him softly, “But keep on going.”

Davos felt something like that too. The fire was a demon in red, marching with thunderous steps. Even from afar, he could hear the trees snapping under its legs. To Davos it felt as if the R’hllor himself was looking at him through the fires, his eyes full of rage at the fall of his servants. He imagined the demon continuing over the water to march towards Davos and incinerate him for failing his king.

Gods knew Davos felt he deserved it.

But then one tendril of fire reached to the front, and the fire parted left and right as if it was opening a gate to a new world of ash and smoke and cinders. After a while the flames receded, travelling north and south along the edge of the forest to close the loops. Soon, Osha left them, as Rickon was nodding off on his horse. But Davos and others stayed to see the end. By the time the sun was listing well in the west, the sound of the demon’s march had faded and only the last of the flickering yellow remained in the distance.

“Well that’s that.” Davos said with a grave finality. “That’s the end of Melisandre of Asshai, and all her promises. Stone dragons,” He half chuckled, half snorted, “She promised Stannis stone dragons. A burning sword, a kingdom. A victory. And stone dragons. All gone now though. All ashes.” Only the little princess Shireen remains, and me, the useless hand.

“Thank the gods there were no stone dragons.” Harwin Stane said looking up at the smoke. “Imagine what they would have wrought for the north.”

Davos nodded. “Could you also ask the gods what this was all about?” He said bitterly, mostly to himself. “Why let us have these dreams of spring if they only meant to sweep them under snow? Why did my four sons burn on the blackwater, and Stannis lived, if they only meant to kill him out here in the cold north, alone and friendless?” His eyes stung, and not from smoke. “If it were all futile, why give him all those prophecies, all those leeches? What good were all the men she burned for him, what good was his righteousness, his honor?” He asked, his voice echoing over the water, unanswered. “Why did he even come to the north?”

His companions were silent. After a while, Lady Brienne spoke. “We cannot know the schemes of the gods.” She said. “We may make our plans, say our prayers and caress our hopes, but they have a plan for us already. If I’ve learned something, it is that it does no good to fight our fate. And that once we have done what we were here in this world to do, we should accept it at go home while we still can. Maybe my part in all this was only to save Shireen and stop Stannis from rising. Who knows? Maybe all Stannis was meant to do was to bring all those prophecies to Jon Snow, and help him light Lightbringer.”

Davos only half heard her, still thinking about why of it all. But slowly, his brain understood what he had heard. He turned to look at her. “Help who light Lightbringer?” He asked slowly.

Lady Brienne flushed. “It’s nothing.” She said, looking away over to the water.

“Tell me.” Davos brought his horse closer to hers. “Stannis had lightbringer. But it only glowed. Melisandre promised him that it would burn, but it only glowed.”

“Jon Snow’s sword burned. Not simply glowing, but it burned, with real flames. But it’s not as if it was the first to do so.” She protested, “Beric Dondarrion’s sword burned as well.”

“Beric Dondarrion?” Davos was confused, “Of Blackhaven?”

“Yes. He was led the Brotherhood Without Banners in the riverlands. Thoros of Myr, another red priest, was with him. He revived Lord Beric when he was killed by the Mountain. From then on, whenever he rode into battle, his sword burned. I had the tale from the outlaws themselves.”

Another lightbringer? What did this mean? “Where is Lord Beric now?”

“He is dead. He died when he revived Lady Catelyn.” She looked at Davos with her brows furrowed, “What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.” Harwin put in. Davos had almost forgotten he was there. “If you’ve forgotten, Onions, Jon Snow is dead. Alysanne Mormont killed him for desertion. Lady Brienne told us.”

“Not so.” Brienne said. “I said they took him away after they found us on the island. From the way they were talking, I gathered they meant to kill him, and I thought they had. But later I learned that Big Bucket Wull had stayed Alysanne Mormont’s hand. He said that Lady Sansa might take it badly if they killed her half-brother. They decided that it should be her that should pass the sentence.”

Davos looked at the Skagosi chiefs. “This changes things, my lords.”

Harwin and Otherys exchanged looks. “No, it doesn’t,” Otherys said. “We are here for obsidian. You promised us. The northmen from the mainland don't hold us in much esteem, not that we think so much of them either. But we don't need to provoke them. The only way that fight will go is that we will all be overrun not only by the northmen, but by the valemen as well. Your princess will die too Onions, as will your son.”

“But Jon Snow has lightbringer.” Davos insisted. “He must be freed. We have to at least try.” This is what Stannis would have done. His duty. “You want obsidian to fight the wights, here the gods have given you the lord commander of the night’s watch whose sword burns. He is the Azor Ahai Melisandre confused with Stannis. Can’t you see? The northmen don’t know what the burning sword means. Melisandre never went south with Stannis, she remained at the wall. We must tell them why we need Jon Snow.”

“And why will they believe us?” Harwin asked. “If they know Snow’s sword burns, and they haven’t released him from captivity yet, what can you tell them that will make them free him? The Night’s Watch has been decrying about The Others for over a year now. And who’s heard them? The only man that did is dead. As will you be if you go putting your dick in a whore that doesn’t want to fuck you.”

“They don’t know.” Came Brienne’s voice. Her face was red again, “about the burning sword, they don’t know.at I told only Alysanne Mormont about it, but I don't think she believed me. Soon I got the gist that they meant to kill Snow. I didn’t think it will help his chances if they knew that his sword had caught fire, seeing as the forest was burning, so I didn't really make them believe.” She frowned, “Also, it was hard to remember all that had happened. It was all so fast, and so terrible. I tried to ask Snow about it while we were stranded on that island, but he was reluctant to talk about it.” She looked back at Davos, “Melisandre called him the Prince that was Promised, not Azor Ahai, I remember now. She said that she had been wrong in thinking Stannis to be both the Azor Ahai and the Prince that was Promised, and that Jon Snow was the Prince that was Promised.” Her eyes widened and she winced slightly, “Maybe it was because Robb Stark was a king and he legitimized Jon Snow.” The words were said in a haste, “She said that that was the night that Azor Ahai will rise and take up the burning sword. I put it all to rantings of a madwoman, for in the end, the only burning sword was held by Snow.”

Then she was right. Azor Ahai did rise that night. Davos was so excited that he ignored the weird way the Maid of Tarth was talking in. “My lords, we must convince them…”

“You can’t.” Otherys’ face was furious, “Maybe you can put the matters before them when you speak to them, but no more. We are not taking your southron army to Winterfell, Davos. Don’t make me threaten you.”

“Maybe the Stark girl will pardon him, his sister.” Harwin said, “That’s what they are waiting for, right? For her to pass the judgment. Maybe she will send him back to the Night’s Watch. It wasn’t really desertion what he did, as you said to us at Eastwatch. He was responding to threats made by Bolton’s Bastard. The fire that burns against the dawn. He can be that fire. Yes, that is what will happen, you’ll see. She will send him back to take command of the Night’s Watch. She won’t want to kill her own brother.”

Half-Brother, Davos thought. “We cannot leave the matters to Maybe’s, my lords.”

“Your convincing the mountain clans is a maybe as well. And you successfully springing Snow from their grasp by use of force is not even a maybe.” Otherys said, “Let this go Davos. You’ll get your chance to convince them at Winterfell, think about what you are going to say. Maybe they will believe you. They will have seen Stannis’ glowing sword. They have seen Lady Stoneheart as Brienne described her to us. They have heard about the red witch and all her powers. And they have heard about the wights at the wall. They will now start believing old tales, and maybe lose their high and mighty opinions. When you tell them about the Lightbringer, they might just believe you. But that is the most you can do.” He turned his horse around. “Come now, let’s go. Spend more time here and I am like to choke on this damned smoke.” He kicked his horse into a trot.

Davos followed slowly, immersed in his thoughts. Maybe Crowl was right. Maybe it was the most he could do. He had to think about Shireen and Devan as well. Am I ready to bet my Queen’s life on the confusions of Melisandre of Asshai?

Halfway to the camp, a couple of scouts found them. Four men on foot, looking for them. Davos spied Ser Narbert Grandison among them. He was a queen’s man that had stayed with Selyse at Eastwatch. The rest were Skagosi. The Skagosi stopped to talk with Otherys and Harwin. Ser Narbert made his way to Davos.

“Messengers from Karhold, and an envoy from the Night’s Watch.” Ser Narbert told Davos when he dismounted. “The black brothers spoke with Magnar and some Umber man. I and Lord Peaseburry spoke to Lewys from Karhold.”

“What did he have for us?”

“Only dark words.” Ser Narbert grimaced. He seemed to be one of those who didn’t mind Davos’ position or authority. “Harrion Karstark wrote home from Maidenpool. He’s been freed by Harrold Hardying of the Vale. He wrote to his sister that Aegon Targaryen was captured by the Lannister Forces.”

Davos looked at the knight. Aegon Targaryen captured. Now how was he supposed to get a pardon from him? Was this a sign from the gods? If the Targaryen king died, Cersei Lannister will never let Shireen bend the knee. Was he supposed to stay here in the north and help Jon Snow?

Harwin and Otherys came over to them. “Do you know what’s happened?” Davos asked them.

“We do, but you don’t.” Otherys said, “A week and a half past, the black brothers were roused by three blasts of the horn.”

Davos looked at the duo’s grim faces. Was there a hint of fear in their eyes? “Three blasts? I don’t understand.”

“The Others.” Harwin said, “The Night’s Watch uses one horn to tell their brethren about rangers returning. Two blasts are used to alert them to wildlings approaching. Three blasts… Three blasts haven’t been sounded in eight thousand years. Three blasts mean the others.” He looked into Davos’ eyes. “It has begun.”

The rest they had from the envoy Ser Denys Mallister, the acting commander of the watch, had sent south. “It wasn’t an attack.” Ser Alliser Thorne told them, “It was just one wight, stumbling in the snow and coming towards the wall. Hop Robin pricked him with a burning arrow when he was halfway up the wall. The wretch fell in the snow and stopped burning, but also stopped moving. The men were afraid to open the gates, but they did it just to burn the body. It was some poxy old woman that had scared them half to death.”

“It climbed the wall?” Davos asked, dread spreading in his chest like beer’s warmth.

“They’re dead. They don’t feel any cold.” Kedge Whiteye said. He was the black brother accompanying Ser Alliser along with one they called Pypar whom Davos had seen at Eastwatch. “They can find handholds we can’t.” Whiteye said, “It was like a serpent slithering up the wall. And that’s only at Castle Black. Not an hour had passed when we got a raven from Icemark. Giant reported killing three wights that were climbing near Hoarfrost Hill. Also, that night Fulk returned from his petrol. We hold patrols going from Castle Black to the two ends of the wall every three days. Fulk was coming back from Eastwatch. He had encountered this dead man climbing down the other side of the wall.”

Davos shuddered, “And all those that you didn’t encounter?”

“They turned up at Castle Black, and thank the gods for that.”

“Giant sent a patrol toward Castle Black, but this boy Grenn saw another climber at the Deep Lake.” Ser Alliser explained. “Stupid boy didn’t have the sense to wait until the wight was near. The craven missed his arrow and only caused the dead man to fall back down into the snow. Once back in the snow however, the wight didn’t start climbing again. It lingered down there, mayhaps waiting for the jackanapes above the wall to leave. The boy told us that it just stared at them, looking up. The boy was too craven to climb down, maybe he thought the ropes we had given him were only fit to hang himself. Him and his men wasted about fifty arrows after that bastard.”

“What if The Other’s were waiting for him in the woods, out of sight?” Pyp asked Ser Alliser heatedly, “What if they were just waiting for him to climb down from the wall so they could kill him?”

“I doubt the White Walkers would plan so much just to kill your friend the Aurochs.” Ser Alliser said to his companion contemptuously. “Anyhow, my lords, while the Aurochs was waiting on this one wight, another gained over the wall a little farther ahead of him without him noticing. But thankfully, he turned for Castle Black. After that, we encountered two more coming from the east. We left to bring the news south the next day.”

There might be those that didn’t turn to Castle Black, Davos thought. “We need men my lords.” Ser Alliser continued, “You see what we have to deal with here? Aurochs and Toads and muttonheads and cravens are all we have. And even those are too few. We had heard that the knights of the Vale, and all the lords of the north were going to be in Winterfell. Ser Denys thought it might be a good idea to voice our concerns to all of them and ask them to visit the wall. Even once will be fine. Once they see the proof of our words themselves, they will have to stop their wars and come to our aid.”

“The wall is too long to be held just by fifteen hundred men my lords.” Kedge Whiteye implored further. “And the white walkers don’t care where the gate is, unlike the wildlings. They can come from anywhere. We are too few to stop them. It’s only a trickle right now. But it will soon grow up to be a river. We had letters waiting for us at Last Hearth, Ser Denys wrote that they sighted about four wights each day now, and that’s just at Castle Black. With only so many men to hold the current, the dam will only break.”

Davos looked around at his companions, and then back at the black brothers. The time had come. “Jon Snow has lightbringer.” He said to them.

Confused looks greeted him. He proceeded to them all they had discussed just a while before, knowing that by the time he would finishe, they will be his.

To his surprise, Ser Alliser began to sputter when he proposed that they all set the news before the mountain clans. “Reinstating Jon Snow, that won’t be good my lords. If he returns to the watch, the black brothers will kill him. They already did that once before.”

“That was before.” Kedge Whiteye frowned at Thorne. “If he has a burning sword, things will be different.”

“He deserted the wall for Winterfell.” Ser Alliser said, fixing Whiteye with a severe stare, “Have forgotten what he did to Marsh?”

“The red witch did that, I heard.” Pyp said uncertainly, “Jon was dead, and she revived him. Marsh was marked for death anyway. What’s it matter how he died?”

Thorn did not deign Pypar to be worthy of a reply. “Bring back Jon Snow, and the Wall will be overrun by the wildlings again, is that what you want Kedge?” He asked. “He shouldn’t even be wearing a black cloak anymore. He died didn’t he? That absolves him from our vows. The vows say that our watch lasts only until our death. Jon Snow has fulfilled his term.”

Kedge Whiteye snorted, “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard Thorne. You may not like our lord commander, but that matters to,” He counted on his fingers, “Oh yes, no one.”

“He sent me to die beyond the wall.” Ser Alliser said angrily, “I saw an Other. I killed him and brought what its remains back to Ser Denys as proof. If you think I will accept that bastard, that turncloak as my lord commander again, you are mistaken.”

“Good.” Whiteye said, “Maybe then Snow will send you to join your friend Slynt, and I won’t have to listen to you anymore.” He looked at Davos, “My lord, I won’t lie. The Night’s Watch won’t be happy to have Lord Snow back. But if the lords of the north are behind him, and if his sword truly burns, makes its own heat, that they will elect him again if they have to.”

It was Harwin’s turn now to sputter. “But what about the obsidain?”

“Fuck the obsidian, boy.” Otherys Crowl said to Davos’ surprise. “We don’t have time anymore.”

“It will only take a moon’s turn to go to Dragonstone and come back.” Harwin insisted.

“Aye, and what if Dragonstone doesn’t fall to us quickly? And even if it did, how much of it do you think there is? Stannis Baratheon might have ordered his castellan to mine the stuff, but the castle was later taken by that what’s-his-name knight. And even if there’s sufficient quantity, you’ll still have to make weapons out of the ore.” Crowl shook his head, “The things have changed now. We don’t have time, that’s the simple truth of it. Jon Snow is our best bet.”

“You can’t mean to try and spring him from his prison, wherever that is. You yourself said that Lord Davos didn’t have a chance. And even with us with him, it will be a close thing. Your queen will surely die.” He said to Davos, “As might your son.”

Davos grimaced. “Maybe we won’t have to fight.” He paused for a moment, “They want to execute him for desertion, don’t they?” He looked at them meaningfully, “According to Ser Alliser Thorne, Jon Snow has fulfilled his term. All we need to do is point that out.”

His audience exchanged uncertain looks. “I have to agree with Kedge Whiteye on this.” Calot said, “That reason is stupid.”

“It won’t be stupid if enough people are saying it.” Ser Alliser said suddenly, “Listen to me, m’lords. Don’t go saying this directly to the proud Wulls and the Liddles. But plant the notion in the soldiers. That way, when it reaches Lady Sansa, she can use it as an excuse to pardon her brother.”

They wound up the meeting quickly after that. Davos climbed out of his tent and gave orders to start gearing up for a march early tomorrow. When he turned back, he found Osha waiting for him. “I hope you know you are betting Rickon’s life here.” She said. “I want the Other’s dead as well, so I won’t make any trouble for you. But I hope you’ll consider the boy’s life in any decision you make.” She left him to think on that.

A tap on the shoulder made him turn around. It was Otherys Crowl. “What did she want?” He asked.

“She is worried what this might mean for Rickon.” As I am, for Shireen and Devan.

“Aye, she would be.” Otherys said, “Women, spearwives or not, are always mothers.” He glanced around uncomfortably, “Listen, I wanted to apologize for threatening you earlier. It turned out you were right, didn’t it?”

Davos smiled, “I will forgive you, if you come with me to threaten Lord Morrigon and his ilk.”

Otherys grinned, “Aye, of course I will come.” He smile faded, “Do you really think that this rumor you mean to plant will work? The boy is legitimized, the southron lady knight said. The Stark girl will not be anxious to pardon a man who is in line of succession of her brother’s throne, and who will also soon get many followers thanks to his burning sword. He could even be King in the North.” He hesitated, “With Shireen as his queen, I suppose.”

“We can hope.” Davos said. “You are right though, we need the followers before we make her pass the judgement.” He looked over at the tent where the prisoners were kept, “I have a plan for that as well.”


	38. Dany III

Days passed and nights came. The days were all the same. Dany’s eyes opened sometime before the dawn. She would lie in the straw bed, watching the sky outside the window turn from dark violet to blue. When the first rays of the sun slanted through the window onto the opposite wall, a eunuch would come with peas and carrots and a chunk of mutton for her to break her fast. Dany wasn’t strong enough to resist eating it, though she never ate much. Only enough to make the hole in her stomach disappear. The rest of her day was spent listlessly around the room, waiting for the night to come, hoping it didn’t, or at least that it would be the same most last nights.

Some nights weren’t.

Some nights the guards came for her with the healer Ellema under tow. Dany was growing weaker by the day, becoming thinner and paler in her cell, but that didn’t matter to the dothraki. They produced their knife and nicked her wound open. There were also slaps in store for her most like. But the true horror came when they left to watch the show after gagging her. For even though she was not being able to call to Drogon, Dany could still hear his screams.

She didn’t understand. Why did Drogon keep coming back? He was clearly warier now than he had been the first time, but why come back at all? She could hear him scream. There was agony in his screams. They were shooting him, that was for sure. Her only comfort was that they were not being able to kill him. Mingled with the dragon’s screams were also screams of men that she could faintly make out. Which meant Drogon was giving them back in kind. But still Dany feared. She knew that the other khalasaars were on their way. As the number of bows increased, so would the chances that one of them pricking Drogon’s eye, or just wound him badly enough that he couldn’t fly. She shuddered each time she imagined Drogon with dozens of arrows sprouting from his scales. How long can her survive? How long can I survive? Each night she became more desperate, wondering how could the gods be so cruel to make a mother hear her son’s torture?

And then there was the healer Ellema. She was not as old as Vishi, but she was also a woman of the Dosh Khaleen. Her hair were greyish black, with some brown streaks in it. Her skin was brown like an almond. And she had promised to help Dany. In the few moments she could talk to her when the guards weren’t looking, she had told Dany her name, and that her son was talking to some trusted friends and slaves. But that was it. It went no further than that. At first Dany had dared to hope. But soon, when the words didn’t turn into action, she began to question whether she could really trust one of the Dosh Khaleen. Maybe she has a grudge against Vishi, Dany told herself. Or she wants her son to be a lord or something other than a horse riding barbarian. But the fact was that Dany didn’t know if the healer was really trying to help, or just making Dany get her hopes up so that she would eat the food given to her and make more and more blood for them to use.

The fifth time the guards came, they found Dany broken. She hadn’t touched food in the last two days. “You can’t cut her.” Ellema exclaimed when she saw Dany lying on the floor. “She is too weak. You will kill her.” The dothraki grunted and tried to lift Dany anyway, but Ellema stopped them. “Do you want me to call Vishi and tell you are refusing to obey the Dosh Khaleen.”

The man pushed Dany back on the floor with a huff. “You are the ones wanting us to kill the dragon. It is near, the scouts said. Vishi’s the one sent us for the blood.”

“Take it tomorrow. One night won’t matter. If she dies, her dragon escapes. If you want, we can go ask Vishi herself.”

They left arguing, and Dany closed her eyes and began weeping. She didn’t think she could endure another night of hearing her child’s screams. It was hell here. What had she done to deserve this? Where was Ser Barristan? Where was her sweet old bear? Where were all the men who had called her mhysa? Did none of them care that she was losing her mind to this torture?

“There, there.” Someone said as hands cradled her, startling her. It was Ellema. Dany hadn’t even heard her come in. She had brought food for Dany. Dany turned her face away from it. “Leave me alone.” Dany moaned. Instead the woman caressed Dany’s face and dried her tears, “Shh… Stop these tears. Does a dragon weep?” She rubbed Dany’s shoulder, making her wince.

Curious, the woman pulled Dany’s filthy sleeve aside and looked upon her naked shoulder. Dany heard her gasp. She knew what the healer was seeing. Bruises in the shape of rods. “What have been doing?” The healer asked. Dany didn’t answer her. They were fresh from this evening only. For the third time, driven by frustration and fear, Dany had tried to match her strength to that of the door. Again and again she had driven her shoulder into the bars, hoping that they will bend, or break, or anything... All it achieved were bruises. In the end, Dany to sank to the floor sobbing and pulling at her hairs. But she won’t be telling that to this woman with her empty promises.

Ellema guessed, however. “Child.” She said, not unkindly, “You cannot break the door. You are a dragon, but trapped inside a woman’s body. You must look for other ways to escape.” She took hold of Dany’s chin and turned her face towards herself, “Do not lose hope.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she brought her face closer to Dany’s own. “Men here know who you are. The slaves. I have been talking to them. They want to free you. They have agreed to help me free the breaker of chains.”

Dany blinked back tears. There were no guards present, and she could speak freely. “You keep saying that. You keep saying your son will free me. When? After Drogon dies?”

Ellema glanced at the door. “My son is in Khal Khomo’s khalasaar. He returned a week back. We decided to act the next time your dragon returns. They will all be watching from the terraces, or be helping Mero and Khomo. My son will free you then, and take you around the mother of mountains to the north. You will have the advantage of the darkness. They won’t find out you are gone until the next morning.”

Something nagged at Dany’s brain. “Why darkness? Why always at night?” She asked, curious.

Ellema shook her head. “I don’t know. Only Vishi knows. She’s the one that calls your dragon. She’s the one that tells Mero what to do, which pyre to light. The dragon is drawn to them she says. Every time the dragon is close again, they take your blood to make the summons stronger. But I don’t know why it appears only at night. Maybe Vishi’s black magic is strongest in the dark of the night.”

Dany got up and sat with her legs crossed, “So Vishi is maegi? She does practice magic? I thought the Dothraki hated maegi?”

“She isn’t a maegi. At least she wasn’t before. She was just a kind old woman who told her sons not to drink too much or they will fall from their horses. I don’t know what she is anymore.”

“But she does practice magic.”

Ellema nodded. “A few days before you turned up, she had the slaves clear a hut for her. It’s a stone hut, just four walls enclosing a space and no roof. She had them haul logs inside for her. After that, she forbade anyone to come inside, or even near the building. No one knows what she does in that hut, only that she lights a bonfire, like a red priest might. The walls glow chaotically whenever she’s in there doing god knows what. Some say that they sometimes hear voices coming from inside, like she’s talking to someone. I have read that the red god gives his followers visions through their fires. Maybe Vishi’s found some way to talk to him.”

Her words scared Dany. Was Vishi really chosen by the gods? Why? Daenerys had never done anything to anger the red god. Why would he work at her downfall?

After the silence dragged on for a few moments, Ellema slid the plate of food toward Dany. “Here, you need your strength.” She said, “The guards will come back tomorrow to get your blood. Vishi has Mero wet the hay they put in those torches in the square. The smell draws the dragon near, but it never comes to the city itself. It is wary by now. That is why Vishi again draws your blood, to make a bigger offering. And it works. The dragon comes after the scent. It will come back tomorrow, or the night after that. That will be our chance. You will need your strength.” She made to get up. “Be ready, child.”

Dany caught her hand. “You are of the Dosh Khaleen. Why would you want to help me?” She asked her.

The healer glanced toward the door again and sat back down. “I am an outsider, like you. When I was a girl, I lived in a village along the Demon Road. I had a family, brothers and a sister, and a father and a mother. At least until the day Khal Kakqo descended upon our village.” She looked away. “My family was sold into slavery. But Khal Kakqo liked the look of me, and told me he would marry me. To save my neck, I pretended to be the daughter of the village chief, while my sister Sella was put on a ship for Lys.” Her eyes found Dany’s again, “I have kept their memory away from my heart all this time, but all the time the guilt has eaten away at me through the years. In time, I grew to love my sun-and-stars and the gifts he would bring me. But sometimes all I could see was the blood dripping from them. I cannot do anything about it, I would tell myself. But that is no longer true. I will see you to Meereen, your grace. You are my chance at redemption, that is why I would help you.”

The women sounded convincing. The grief in her voice, the shame in her eyes. But could Dany trust her?

But then again, what did she have to lose? She couldn’t just wait here till one of her or drogon dies.

Dany cleaned the plate Ellema had given her. That night, she made herself close her eyes, and stay in the bed even though she couldn’t sleep. Her chest felt hollow and warm from anticipation and fear. The night was a long one, but in the end the world became light and soon a eunuch came with mutton for her to break her fast. She asked him if she could have more.

That night when the guards came, Dany stood meek as they cut open the scar along her forearm. She hoped her face wouldn’t give anything away, so she averted her eyes from them. She hardly felt the pain as her blood started flowing. When Ellema approached, Dany caught her eye. The healer gave her the tiniest of the nods. Everything was set.

They gagged her and left. Dany’s heart was pounding so loudly she was sure even Drogon could hear it. What if they find me? Dany wasn’t afraid to die. She just didn’t want to return to this cell. If they found me, let them at least kill me. Then at least Drogon will be free to fly away.

She was listening to the sounds outside when someone approached her cell. It was sounding as if it wasn’t going well for the dothraki tonight. She was almost smiling. When she heard footsteps approaching, she stood up and looked through the bars to the torch lit hallway. A man in his thirties appeared in front of them, looking at her.

The man didn’t waste any time. “I am Mello.” He said as he unlocked the door and whirled it open. “My mother is Ellema, whom you know.” Dany ran to him, holding up her bound her hands. He sliced the ropes open. “Don’t call to your dragon.” He warned her in the common tongue as he cut the rope that was bound across her face, ungagging her. He took her hand and began running down the hallway. None of them realized that that sounds outside the windows had stopped.

A call to warn them came just as they reached the steps that would take them up to the ground level. “Khomo.” The man on the lookout shouted. “Shite.” Ellema’s son cursed, “They found out.” He turned back on his heel, still holding Dany and making her collide with a wall in the process. _No_! Dany’s mind shouted. _Not so early. We had just begun._ But the man dragged her back to her cell. He had barely gotten her gag upon her face when they heard footsteps descending the stairs. Angry footsteps.

Mello got out of the cell and locked it just as they entered the hallway. “Mero.” He called, “What’s going on? I thought I heard something, I was just checking on her.”

“Your khal is dead.” Dany heard Mero snarl. “What are you doing here?” He came in front of Dany’s cell and his eyes found her. It was anger she saw in his eyes. He looked much worse than how she had seen him before. His hair was burnt at least once, and there on his biceps, she could see molten gold sticking, probably from the molten bells in his hair. It reminded her of her brother and how he had screamed as Drogo had crowned him. She shrank away from the image as Mero pointed to her cell. “Open the door. I am sick of my men dying. It’s her turn now.”

Mero’s men dragged her out of her cell still bound and gagged. Mero himself took her hand and she was dragged down the length of the hallway again. She could hear Mello behind her, trying to talk to Mero’s guards. Dany wanted to say something, but couldn’t have even if she weren’t gagged. She tried to keep pace with Mero. She was sure that he wouldn’t lift her up is she fell, but just keep dragging her.

Outside the building, a crowd had gathered. Dany saw a few eunuchs lying in a pool of blood at the doorsteps. The dothraki were trying to stay clear of them, and trying not to look either. Some of them tried to stop Mero. “Vishi says she is needed alive.” One man said to Mero. “How will you call the dragon back if you kill her?” Another asked.

Mero didn’t pay them any mind. He just kept on marching forward with Dany running behind him, trying not to trip. Mero led her through the city toward the square. Around her, the city of Vaes Dothrak looked like a dragon had attacked it, which it had. Many buildings were burned, some were even collapsed. Nothing remained of the straw hall where Dany had once stayed with her sun-and-stars but cinders.

Ahead came the statues of the gods. In front of them were the tall torches, burning in all different colors and giving the gods a sinister casts. It felt to Dany as if all the gods had their eyes on her only. So busy she was looking at them one by one that she didn’t see Vishi standing in Mero’s path.

Mero stopped in front of Vishi as he hadn’t for his brethren, making Dany collide with him. “What is the meaning of this?” Vishi asked him, her eyes peering at Dany and Mero through the black mask of her face, “I’ve told you, she’s not to be harmed.”

“Her time is done.” Mero said in half a snarl, “I’ve seen too many men burn, and horses too, more than I care to. Hundreds of good men die every time the beast returns. Even Khomo is dead, with all his bloodriders.”

“If you kill her, how will you take your revenge? The dragon will not come back again.”

“It will come back one last time, when it hears its mother screaming around my arakh. And this time I will have my revenge. Or I will die trying. But either way, this will be the last time our men die of dragonfire, I promise you.”

“And what about the rest of her dragons? You think the danger ends only with this one? After we are done with this one, there are two more we must attend to.”

Mero stared at as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Kill two more dragons? Are you mad?”

“The gods have given me that task. Horses run from the dragons. Until they are all gone, we are in danger, they said.”

“The gods?” Mero snorted. He shook Dany, still clutching her hand, “I am starting to believe what this cunt said that day. You’ve gone senile. Your visions are nothing but hallucinations born out of old age. You are no long fit to be leading the Dosh Khaleen. Stand aside, maegi.” He drew his sword, “Or get ready to face the Horse God in his starry court.”

Vishi backed away from Mero, fear in her eyes. “What are you doing?” She shrieked, pointing at him, “Drawing blade on the Dosh Khaleen. Madness has overcome your mind.” She looked at the Dothraki men and women crowded around them, “Seize him.”

No one moved. They looked from Mero to Vishi uncertainly. “I said seize him.” Vishi shouted more angrily, shaking her pointing finger in Mero’s face.

“Maegi.” A shout came from the crowd. “My son burned because of you.” One woman wailed, “You killed him.”

Vishi’s eyes widened in surprise. Other voices joined the noise. “No more burning horses” someone yelled. Dany also heard yells of “You’re mad” and again “Maegi” and “You’re killing our son’s”. Letting go of Dany, Mero moved forward, “You’ve cost us about half a thousand men.” He said to Vishi. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you?”

Vishi’s gaze turned back to Mero. She seemed to swell with anger under the accusations. To Dany it seemed as if the old crone of the Dosh Khaleen had absorbed the light from her surroundings and had started to glow. “Because we do not spill blood in this holy city.” She said in Iron Tones, her face stone. “But you don’t care about that, do you? You killed those guards I had posted outside her prison.”

“There’s more blood on your hands.” Mero snarled. “Dothraki blood.”

Vishi looked at him in contempt. “You want reason not to kill me? Fine I’ll give you reason. You think age has run away with my wits, I’ll give you proof that that’s not the case. I’ll give you the proof of my power.”

She whistled to one of her slaves, “Bring me my powders.” She gestured to a dothraki soldier, “Take down a torch and make a pile for me. We will be lighting the nightfire.”

The soldiers casted an uncertain glance to Mero and started to move. Vishi took a deep breath and turned her back on the crowd. Together, they all waited for the pyre to be piled up.

“It was about a month ago.” Vishi said to the crowd as they waited, her voice calm and brooding. “I had my ear to the news from the south-east. To the news of the dragon queen. For I knew what the dragons could mean for us, the people of the Dothraki. It was only when the doom came to Valyria that our people could conquer the grasslands, you all know this.”

“So it came as a relief to me when I heard news that the dragon queen was dead. I went and bathed in the womb of the world, and I thanked the Great Horse God for pulling us out of the danger. But the Horse God replied that the danger hadn’t passed. I heard his voice, as clear as day, telling me that I was to carry out the last of the tasks in the vanquishing of the dragons. He showed me what would happen if I didn’t obey him, or if I failed. I saw a three headed dragon killing villages after villages. I saw the seas rising to the hights of towers and falling down on the dothraki, swallowing the greatest khalasaar the world had ever seen.” She paused, “I was afraid, very afraid. I didn’t know what to do. But, that night, a man spoke to me in my dreams. And he showed me the way.”

They finished setting up the bonfire. Vishi took the torch offered by a rider. The flames were flickering wildly against the rising wind. Looking at the flames, suddenly Dany was very uneasy. It seemed the night had become still. She could hear a hundred men and women holding their breaths. She thought she sensed the same unease in them as well. Even Mero seemed perturbed.

The entire pile caught fire at the merest touch from Vishi’s torch, as if the wood was just waiting for Vishi. “It was the wish of the Great Horselord of the Stars that I take help from the Red God R’hllor. Who was I to deny him? And who are you to stop me?” she turned back, the torch held beside her trailing a line of pink ribbons in Dany’s eyes. “Look into the fire, and you’ll see that the gods are with me.” Vishi said to the crowd, her head held high.

A collective gasp went up from crowd when they all saw that they weren’t looking at a fire, but into a room.

Dany’s eyes became wide with surprise. The fire was still there, and the heat and the ashes rising from it. But there was also a room. It was like a well, the fire, or a window into another world. The room was dark in the midst of fire, cobblestones making up three walls and a ceiling lost in the dark of the night. Dany couldn’t understand how it was so, but that’s how it looked like. They could see a table in the room, with a taper lit on it. A fat man was reading a tome in the light of the taper. He looked toward them suddenly, as if something had alerted him. Dany could see that he saw them, for he gave a squeak of fright.

“Call your master.” Vishi snapped at him, as if it was everyday she yelled at men through a pyre.

“He.. he is not here.” The fat man said, seeming very afraid. When he moved, Dany saw that his hands and legs were chained to the table.

“I know, idiot. I see he’s not here.” Vishi said, “That’s why I am telling you to call him.”

The fat man sniffed. He twisted in his chair toward the door. “Codd.” He called. “Codd, Oarsman.” He called again. “Your Gr.. Grace Euron. Vishi’s here.”

The fat man kept calling. He banged on the table, glancing fearfully at Vishi every now and then. Finally, someone poked their head through the gate. “What is it?”

“Call the king.” Sam said, “Tell him I’ve found something in the book.”

The man cursed and left. The fat man looked back at Vishi, “He’s coming.”

They had to wait only for a little while. The door flew open and a man walked in. He was a lean and tall man, wearing dark purple robes. Dany suddenly realized that she was looking at someone in Westeros. Only westerosi wore armor like that, and have animals sewn on their breasts. She also realized that while Vishi had spoken in Dothraki, the fat man had spoken in common tongue. And yet each had understood the other, while the crowd of the dothraki around them had also understood what was being said. Vishi had truly become a sorceress.

The newcomer was angry. Dany could see it in his face. The fat man could see it as well, he shrank away from him. The man marched toward the fire. “What’s this?” He said, “I’ve told you, we can only talk at certain times, I have hounds on my heels here.” He saw the crowd behind her, “Who are they? You weren’t supposedt’o tell anyone about this.”

“They were losing their faith.” Vishi said. The man appeared not to have heard. His eyes had found Dany’s, or rather his one good eye. The other was covered with an eye patch. The one good eye was looking at her with unmasked hunger. “I had to show them the proof of my power. Mero was going to kill her.”

The man’s eyes snapped back to Vishi. “Who’s Mero?” He asked. Mero stepped forward, “I am.” He said, “And who…”

He never finished his sentence. The man with the eye patch shot his hand forward. He was still in his room, probably a thousand miles away, or wasn’t even real. But when he shot his hand forward, a column of fire shot out of the fire in front of Daenerys. It engulfed Mero. With a scream, the dothraki bloodrider was burning. Dany stepped back in horror, as did Vishi and everybody else watching.

The bloodrider screamed in agony as the fire enveloped his body like a cocoon with a hundred arms. It wasn’t the first time Dany had seen a man burning, but it seemed to her as if Mero’s screams were more anguished than the others.

Vishi found her voice when Mero’s blackened and charred body hit the ground and exploded in ash. “What did you do?” She gasped, “Why did you kill him.”

“That is how you deal with those who question your orders, you stupid old woman.” The man in the fire said.

“You didn’t have to kill him.” Vishi said accusingly, “He was a good soldiers. He was just worried about his men dying is all.”

“Men dying?” Roared the man, suddenly angry. “This is war, woman.” He said, “A war for our life. Of course men will die. Do dothraki fear death so much? Do you think you are the only one who is losing men?” He demanded. “What do you think I am doing here? I have dragons of my own to defeat. They almost killed me.” The man was looking more and more deranged by the moment, “This is no time for despair. The fate of the world rests in our hands, old woman. The gods can only do so much. I gave you all you needed. I told you how to summon the dragon. But finally it is up to you to kill them.”

“I know.” Vishi said. She was about to say something else but she stopped as if she had heard something.

Dany heard it too, as did the crowd around her. Her heart sank. She could hear wings. The crowd around her began to murmur. Drogon was back.

She tried for a scream. It was as if she had forgotten about the gag still in her mouth. But she remembered when no sound escaped her. Tears stung her eyes, for not being able to call to her dragon. The crowd began to disperse around her, running to get their bows and to get to their posts. Would she have to witness his torture now? She was still bound, there was no way she could mount him, even if an arrow didn’t take her life. It never occurred her to take herself from the square.

In the fire, the man smiled. “The dragons are coming.” He said quietly.

Vishi, who was the only one other than Daenerys remaining in the square, was looking at the sky. “Yes.” She said distractedly. Then her head snapped toward the fire, “There are two.”

Dany looked up at the sky just in time to see Drogon’s body illuminated by the fire of the raised torches. The dragon swooped low and loosed fire at a building to her right. Dany could hear the screams from the terrace. She could also hear the arrows taking flight from the building beside Drogon.

But then the building exploded in a shower of rocks and dust and men. And of fire. Dany saw him then. The fire illuminated the monstrous serpent in the sky. It was Viserion. He was bigger and bulkier than Dany remembered, but it had to be him, with his creamy white scales washed in yellow by the fire. He was firing at the men who were shooting at his brother. When the screams ended, Drogon and Viserion both rose up, and split to go after other buildings. In the light of the burning fire, Dany saw that someone was mounted in over Viserion’s back.

Vishi had seen him too. “There’s someone riding it.” Came a moan from her. Dany looked back at the old woman and the fire. In the fire, the man was staring at the old crone. “I told you, the blood of the dragon will summon the dragon.” He spread his hands and smiled, “It was the only way that my oaf of a brother will find Daenerys, and save her.” He turned to look at Dany, “I apologize for all the discomfort and pain you must have gone through, my fair queen.” He said, bowing to her. “I was out of necessity, I hope you understand. I made sure they won’t kill you until my brother arrived. And I knew that these barbarians could never kill a dragon. R’hllor had shown it to me.”

R’hllor? Dany thought. Her mind was numb, still absorbing all that was happening around her. Vishi was right, someone had stolen Viserion and was riding him. Where was Rhaegal? The fire was spreading through the city of Vaes Dothrak, fueled by the two dragons, but mostly by Viserion whose rider seemed determined to burn every single man he laid eyes on. And here the man in the fire, a thousand leagues away in Westeros, was claiming that it was had been him that had sent them.

The man in the fire was still talking, more to himself than to Dany, “I had thought he had turned against me, with all the recent defeats I have suffered. I thought that he had abandoned me when he didn’t warn me of the Lannister trap. But I must’ve been wrong. This is a sign. It has to be.” He laughed again, “I wish Aeron was here to see this.”

“You’re a liar.” Vishi shrieked again. The old crone seemed have shrunk against the pyre, full of fear. But both Dany and the man in the fire ignored her. At the name Lannister, it was as if Dany’s mind had cleared. She found herself in the midst of a burning city, in the midst of fire and blood. Her dragons had come back to rescue her. It was as if she had been asleep for far too long and had forgotten who she was. But now she was awake and sure again.

She stepped forward and knelt by the fire, closing her eyes and thrusting her face into the coals at the fringes of the pyre. She felt the red hot logs on her cheek, burning the rope gag. When she felt her gag loosen, she stood up and spat it out. She knew that didn’t have so much as a mark on her skin, except for ash. Around her the city burned, and she could feel the power of the fire coursing through her. It was like a refreshing bath, taking away her weariness and all her despair. She looked at the man in the fire. “Who are you?” She asked.

The man had observed all she had done with a look of admiration in his eyes. “I am Euron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands.” He knelt to the ground, “Your leal servant. I’ve sent my brother to bring you back to Westeros.” He glanced once at the sky, “I must go now. My brother mustn’t know that I was here, or that I guided him through his voyage through the Dothraki Sea. He has a fragile heart. He thinks he is going to betray me and marry you.” He laughed once more, “Be gentle with him my queen. He does not think highly of me, but what can one do about family?” He stood up. “Come back to Westeros soon, your grace. Your realm needs you like never before.” He turned back to the fat man whom Dany had almost forgotten. “Pack your breeches, fat Sam.” Euron Greyjoy laughed again as the man in chains whimpered. “Tarly will soon set sail. We must retreat for now, but we are not yet defeated. No. The lions have left their caves. There’s no one to defend them. It is time I paid Lannisport one more visit.”


	39. Jon Connington II

“It is her handwriting.” Nymeria Sand confirmed, “Arianne’s own. She wrote the letter herself, though I can’t speak for whether Lannister was forcing her hand or not.”

They were seated at a long rectangular table in the council chambers above the throne room. Jon sat at the head of the table, frowning at the letter in his hands. To his right sat Varys, the bald master of whisperers. To his left was seated the venerable High Septon, a picture of quiet dignity and false righteousness. Down the length of the table, on the right were Lords Yronwood, Uller and Vaith. On the left facing them were Nymeria Sand, Harry Strikeland, and Lord Arstan Selmy.

“He wants to exchange hostages.” Jon told the other councilors. Nymeria Sand already knew the contents of the letter, since the Princess Arianne had arranged for her to personally receive the letter. But the others were hearing about it the first time. “He wants you,” Jon indicated the dornishmen present, “to honor the betrothal between Trystane Martell and Myrcella Baratheon. He promises that Princess Arianne will be returned to us unharmed and unconditionally, that is to say, he doesn’t expect us to stop in our efforts to recruit Harrold Hardying to our cause through holy matrimony, if we assure him that his family, Cersei and Tommen and other Lannisters, get full pardons from the crown. He is even ready to pledge troops to us in case we have to march on, say the north or the ironmen, under the condition that he is personally involved in the mission. And he is promising us Aegon, and a bent knee in exchange for Tommen. Any other hostages will also be exchanged as we see fit later on.”

The offer was a surprise, as he could see. It was almost the offer they had tried to frighten Margaery Tyrell into accepting. Only, that plan had backfired. Not only had Margaery Tyrell thrown their offer in their face, she had gotten reason to believe Jon’s position to be weak. Jon blamed Varys for that. It had been his idea. “The girl cares for Tommen, and she won’t let any harm come to him if it is in her hands.” He had said to Jon and Lord Yronwood. Instead, the girl had not only left little Tommen for a gibbet, she had revealed herself to be just a younger version of Cersei.

Lancel Lannister seemed to be thinking along the same lines that Varys had fed to Cersei and Margaery. He was afraid that the Tyrells might betray him to cut their losses. Lancel Lannister did not have many men of his own in that army. It will be too easy for Garlan Tyrell to put him in custody and negotiate a peace with Jon based on a marriage. That was why Lannister had contacted Arianne in secret, and gotten her to write this message to her friends in King’s Landing. Jon thanked the gods that Lancel Lannister didn’t know that Aegon meant to marry Daenerys.

There was a momentary silence around the table as Jon finished explaining. Then Lord Harmen Uller spoke up, “Well we have already pardoned Tommen.” He said heavily. “What to do with him was always a question, given that we are not Lannisters.” He made a fist, “But full pardons to Lannisters, the same ones that killed Elia and Oberyn, and made a mockery of their promises to Dorne…”

“Not the same ones.” Nymeria Sand said. “Tywin Lannister is dead.”

“And there your list ends.” Uller said. “The mountain’s skull was promised to us. And now we hear that Cersei raised the headless man from his grave using some vile sorcery. Where is this Ser Robert, I ask you? Lancel Lannister took Meryn Trant with him, and left Boros Blount, Ser Loras and Ser Robert to protect the king. Well, Ser Loras and Ser Boros are both dead. But there is no word of what’s happened to Ser Robert.” He rounded on the High Septon, “He was seven feet tall and two feet wide. If he is dead, how could you miss his body? If he isn’t, where the bloody hell is he? How could he get out?”

“We couldn’t miss him.” His High Holiness replied coolly, “For the reasons you mentioned. As for where he is, you are asking the wrong person. Lord Varys reputedly more knows about the red keep than me, including those infamous tunnels of Megor’s.”

Lord Uller was about to round on Varys, but Jon cut in before he could get a word out. “We are straying from the subject, my lord. We need to discuss how best to bring Aegon and Arianne home.”

“We are not straying from the subject.” Lord Uller banged his fist on the table. “The Lannisters must not be pardoned. Dorne has hungered for justice far too long. We did not come here to let history repeat itself.”

“You will let him murder Arianne?” Nymeria Sand asked disbelievingly.

“He won’t murder Arianne.” Lord Uller said contemptuously. “If he does, he makes a permanent enemy out of Dorne, an enemy that is likely to make common cause with the north simply because his enemy is my friend. No,” He swerved his gaze over to Jon, “if he needs a hostage to kill, he will see that there are more Dornishmen at King’s Landing than there are Targaryen loyalists. Our fifteen thousand to their five. He will choose Aegon Targaryen, should there be need.”

Jon stared at him. “I though the Dornishmen _were_ Targaryen loyalists my lord. We thought we were friends. Aegon is Elia’s own son. You can’t mean to abandon him to the lions.”

“Why not? His father abandoned Elia to them. And even if he hadn’t died, we know he was going to set Elia aside for that northern girl.”

Jon was startled, “What are you talking about?”

Lord Uller snorted, “Don’t tell me you don’t know.” When Jon didn’t reply, he turned to Anders Yronwood. “You believe this, Anders? You want to tell them about that letter, or should I.”

“Nothing will be gained by that, Harmen.” Anders Yronwood said in a placating tone. “What’s done is done and is in the past.”

“And I am trying not to let it happen again. I will not have Dorne trampled under Targaryen wiles again.” He looked back at Jon, “When the wars were raging in the Stormlands during Robert’s rebellion, Anders went to Sunspear to ask Doran why he hadn’t sent men to challenge the rebel lord? Doran showed him a letter Elia had written to him. In it she said that the dragon prince had sat her down at Dragonstone before he disappeared in the riverlands. She said he apologized for what he was going to do _._ He told her that he was going to set her aside for Lyanna Stark, and disinherit Elia’s children in favor of the child she would bear him. But that’s okay, for he promised her a tower to cry in, and a litchyard to bury the children in.”

Jon heard gasps from around the table. For a moment he himself questioned his own ears. Had Harmen Uller just said what he had heard? “Rhaegar wouldn’t ever have said that.” He finally said.

“Not in exact words I suppose, but that was the gist. Why do you think Dorne held back from the war so long? Doran only sent his men forward when Aerys threatened Elia. He had held his men back so that Rhaegar will see that Dorne will not let Elia’s honor be besmirched. But Aerys had no honor, and Doran had to send forth his swords or possibly see his sister burn. I remember how the prince was in those days. He was confused, bewildered. He couldn’t make sense of Rhaegar’s betrayal of Dorne.” He stood up from the chair, “Well I don’t mean to see it happen again. For me, Dorne comes first, then this pretender boy you have brought here.” He marched from the hall without looking back.

When his footsteps receded, Jon brought himself to ask Anders Yronwood, “Is this true, what he said?”

“Why would he lie?” Yronwood replied.

Jon sighed. His arm was tingling, making him want to itch it. But he knew it wouldn’t help. “Does what he said reflect all of Dorne’s feelings?” He asked.

“No.” The Bloodroyal replied. “Even though the Lannister pardons are hard to stomach, we are getting Myrcella. And an ally in Hardying. If you can assure us of a dornish court in the red keep under King Aegon, I think you will still find us allies.”

“What about him though?” Harry Strikeland asked, nodding toward the doorway through which Lord Harmen had disappeared. “I must say I don’t like the way he pointed out the huge imbalance between the dornish soldiers and others.”

“Give him time to cool off.” Nymeria Sand said. “Once we get Arianne here, she will convince him to stand down. He won’t be alone in this dissent, but if there is anyone they will listen to, it is the princess of Dorne.” She indicated to the letter, “I can’t see why she wouldn’t agree to the plan, it is _her_ life it is saving after all. That and some lands and titles should be sufficient for the dornish lords, I think.”

Jon pressed his lips together. “That is good to hear. We need to see to getting a response to Lannister.” He looked at the people seated around the table, “This is not the time to open anymore old wounds, my lords. We have made some mistakes, I agree, but we cannot be taking out our anger on each other, but focus on getting ourselves out of this mess.”

“I can get a message to young Lancel.” Varys said, “I have people in that army all in the right places.”

“About this army,” Lord Selmy said, “What can you tell us? Who’s in it? It might be that Garlan Tyrell might act the way Lancel Lannister fears and arrests him before we could complete the exchange. Is there anyone in the commanders of the army that might help us stop that?”

“I am afraid I must give you an answer you will not like, Lord Selmy.” Varys said apologetically, as if it was completely his fault. “Garlan Tyrell has picked his commanders meticulously. Or rather, his grandmother has done it for him. Only the Queen of Thorns could have convinced him to leave Randyll Tarly in the reach with just ten thousand men to root out the Ironmen. Instead of Tarly, he is taking Hightower men, Redwyn men and Fossoway men, houses that are married into the House Tyrell and whose chances of betraying Garlan are slim. There are men from Old Oak as well, probably included because Arys Oakheart died while in Dorne. He has absorbed men from Lancel’s army, and even Aegon’s army. Lord Ashford’s bent the knee and given his strength to Garlan. After this, his army stands to about forty thousand.” He smiled that apologetic smile again.

“But-“ Nymeria sputtered, “The houses you mentioned, Hightower, Oakheart and Redwyn, they are from the coast. Hell, Redwyn owns the fleet that will clear the ironmen from the shields. They are just abandoning their homes to march on King’s Landing.”

“That is the Lady Olenna for you.” Varys giggled, “When she says march, you march. But, as I said, Randyll Tarly is staying in the reach. He is currently en route to Oldtown from where he will sail to the Shield Islands to clear the ironmen out once and for all.” He shrugged, “The threat of the ironmen has decreased considerably after their defeat at Cider Hall. They also took a pounding from Garlan on their way back down the Mander, and another one from Highgarden when they came across it. On their trip to Cider Hall, they had had the luck of heavy fog over the Mander which enabled them to cross without detection, but this time they were not so fortunate. They are keeping to the Shield Islands mostly right now, but not for long. Randyll Tarly would have been a wild card here. He is an able soldier whose accomplishments have always been negated in importance by Mace Tyrell, and one has no married relation into the house Tyrell. That’s why Lady Olenna wanted to keep him away from us. That, and she wanted someone able to defend the Reach’s borders should a dornish army descend from the Prince’s Pass. The ironmen and the dornishmen, the two people she knows Tarly won’t betray Highgarden for.”

“We must get this exchange done as soon as possible then, my lords, before Garlan Tyrell has a chance to arrest Lancel Lannister.” Lord Arstan said. “Best if it is done before Hardying approaches as well, since then he cannot put a stop to it.” Jon nodded. “I think we have covered everything.” He said standing up, “Let’s meet later on, when we have some new, hopefully good, news.”

If I hadn’t been wounded at Storm’s End while taking Mace Tyrell, this could all have been avoided, Jon thought after the meeting was over and they all had left. He sat at the table alone, staring at the candle on the corner of the table, its flame constant and calm, hypnotizing almost. The plan had been for Jon to go bring Euron Greyjoy to justice, while Aegon would march north and take his throne with the help of his mother’s people. But Jon had taken a sword to the shoulder. Afterwards his stubbornness in not letting the maester see him, lest he see the grayscale that had taken over his body, had only delayed the recovery. Jon knew that Aegon hadn’t liked that he couldn’t be the one to take the Iron Throne, but needed to have Jon secure it for him. But the lad had done what he thought was best for his kingdom. “They will hail me for saving the Reach.” Aegon had said to him before he rode into the trap. And now Jon was sitting over a table, getting ready to offer a pardon to the Lannisters.

Feeling a chill in his dead hands, Jon doused the candle and made his way to his room, just adjacent to the council chambers. He had taken residence in rooms above the Throne Room, since Cersei had gutted the Tower of the Hand. Every time Jon thought about that, he felt a fresh wave of anger. Who did she think she was, marring the citadel built by the dragons? If it had been up to Jon, he would have had the tower reconstructed before Aegon arrived, and delivered the Red Keep to him the way it had been in Rhaegar’s time. But the Red Keep was too crowded for any construction to take place. It left Jon feeling frustrated every time he glanced at those ruins.

Jon went to the fireplace, which still had glowing embers, to feed it straw and logs. Once he had a nice blaze going, he squatted in front of it and undid his gloves, rolling up his sleeves. His hands were black almost to the elbows. There was a tingling in his biceps, telling him that they will go black soon as well. His hands were not the only place the grayscale had taken though. Inside his tunic, the hair on his chest and stomach had all turned gray and wilted like grass in autumn. There was a black spot on his chest, looking like an ink stain. It was nearer to his right nipple than his left, thank the gods. If Jon’s heart turned to stone before he could help Aegon…

Unbidden, his mind went to Rhaegar. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to open that can of worms. He knew nothing good could come out of thinking about it. No peace of mind, not after what he had heard from Lord Uller. But the mind was a horse without reins, and it galloped wherever it wanted.

It had been on horseback that he had first seen her. He had chased her along the coast of the God’s Eye, the laughing face on the shield slung on her back seemingly mocking him as she raced ahead of him. She had led him through the forest like she was born on horseback, weaving in and around trees and jumping boulders and bogs with ease. He was panting by the end, knowing it won’t be much longer before his horse stopped listening to his whip. But there had been movement ahead, and a liger had emerged from the bushes. The horses had reared up at the sight, frightened. The rider ahead of Jon had taken out his sword and ran the liger off, but that had proved enough time for Jon to crash into them, sending them both tumbling down. Richard Lonemouth caught up with the pair of them soon. Jon could still remember their shock when they had unmasked the mystery knight, and found a woman’s face staring back at him amidst brown curls.

She had ridden in the tourney of Harrenhal. Only knights were allowed take part in the tilts, unless you were from the north. But while the girl had been from the north, there was the fact that she was a girl, and highborn at that. There was no way her lord father would have let her enter the lists. So she had entered the tourney as a mystery knight. Jon still remembered the name, The Knight of the Laughing Tree. She had only challenged a few knights however, and had left undefeated and unmasked. But not before King Aerys had taken an interest in this mystery knight. The king held that the weirwood on the mystery knight’s shield was laughing at him, and he had offered a good sum of money to anyone who would bring the knight in front of the royal seat and unmask him.

The lickspittles that Aerys surrounded himself had cheered at the call, and some others as well. Jon hadn’t given it any heed, it was just another mad fancy of the mad king. But an inebriated Richard Lonemouth along with an even more drunk Robert Baratheon had also promised Aerys to unmask the knight who dared mock the king. The pair of them had been engaged in a drinking game, and Robert had been unable to get up the next day when it was time to mount up and go follow the tracks. So Richard had asked Jon and Myles to come. Myles Mooton had declined, but Jon accepted, if only because Rhaegar was busy with Oswell Whent and Lord Hoster Tully, and also to some degree because he had heard Jacerys Velaryon, who was Aerys’ favorite of the week, was already on the trail of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, having seen him head south. Jon and Richard laughed imagining how green Aerys would turn when he would have to put the sack of gold in their hands instead of his Lord Admiral’s son.

But all that went from his mind when Jon saw Lyanna Stark lying below him on the edge of the God’s Eye. The girl begged him not to reveal her to her father. She was afraid that Lord Rickard would send her home. “This was supposed be the last of my adventures, before I was to be married off.” She said to Jon in her thick northern accent, “I even had the shield painted special, a happy weirwood. The painter bungled it and it ended up laughing. I never meant any offense to the king.”

Jon was thinking about something else entirely however. He was thinking about all the meetings Rhaegar was having even right now at Harrenhal. He was thinking about all the suspicions floating about the Tourney at the Red Keep. He thought about where Walter Whent was getting all this money to thrown at the champions of the tourney, and why Aerys was here in the first place. Finally he thought of why the lord of the north, a land which was reputed to resist southron influences and didn’t mix in the intrigues of the south and its court all that much, was marrying his daughter to the lord of the distant stormlands.

It all became clear to him then. It wasn’t just that Robert Baratheon’s best friend was Ned Stark. If that had been all, it would have been fine. But Jon also knew that Lord Rickard Stark’s eldest son Brandon was betrothed to the daughter of Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun. Also, wasn’t it suspect as to why Eddard Stark was fostered in the remote Mountains of the Moon in the first place? He then remembered how Hoster Tully had gotten up from his seat and walked off when Ser Gerold Hightower gave Jaime Lannister the white cloak, and he remembered Oswell Whent and Jonothor Darry going to placate him. Jon had been seated a row above them, beside Ser Arthur who was guarding Elia. He had leaned over to the kingsguard knight asked what that was all about, not really expecting an answer. But the Sword of the Morning had replied, “He wanted the lion all to himself. And Aerys’ stole him from him.” Hoster Tully’s daughters weren’t at Harrenhal with him, but Jon knew that he had two.

Tully and Stark, tied by marriage. Stark and Arryn and Baratheon by friendship, and marriage as well. And Tully had been trying to arrange a marriage between his Riverrun and Casterley Rock, whose lord had despised Aerys even before he surrendered his chain of office. The three lords, Rickard Stark, Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully seemed to be forming an alliance for… something. Maybe a rebellion against the mad king on the Iron Throne, or maybe just a forced abdication. They were trying to get Tywin Lannister in it as well, and whether they succeeded or not Jon did not know, but they had apparently caught attention of Rhaegar, and maybe of Aerys and that of his master of whisperer’s as well. That must have been why Rhaegar had arranged for this tourney, to show to this Great Northern Alliance that they could have an ally in the Red Keep as well, a prince worthy of the Iron Throne. And he was doing a good job of it too. Rhaegar had been unhorsing knights left and right the past four days. No man could stand against the Prince of Dragonstone. Aerys wouldn’t either, if he chose not to go silently.

Rhaegar had discussed none of this with Jon, or with Richard. He had his other friends for this kind of things. Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent most prominent of those, and other lords such as Lord Grandison. Rhaegar was the crown prince, and he had to put the realm before himself, so Jon understood why Rhaegar would speak of his courtly concerns to more experienced veterans more than to Jon. Of course Jon heard some of it, but he had heard nothing about the tourney and designs behind them from Rhaegar. Jon, Richard, Myles and the others of same age with Rhaegar that the Prince of Dragonstone counted as friends were the friends he would take on hunts, or throw feasts with and discuss a new poem he was writing. But Jon felt he was ready for more. Looking in front of him at the girl sitting on the bushes pleading with him to let her go, he saw his chance to show Rhaegar that he, Jon, could also think politically.

It was the first time he had done so. And it had cost the realm so much.

“There are others searching for you.” He had told Lyanna Stark. “We have wasted precious time here. They will catch you, and they _will_ take you to Aerys. If you don’t want your father finding out about, you have to come with us.” Jon promised her that he won’t force her, that she was just a girl, a warrior maybe, but a knight’s honor still prevented Jon from raising a hand against her. Eventually the girl relented. Jon and Richard took her, in secret, back to Harrenhal, and presented her to Rhaegar.

Jon had been thinking that Rhaegar will take the girl to her father and use her to get in good graces of the Warden of the North. But Rhaegar was taken up with her the moment he set eyes on her. Rhaegar calmed the frightened girl, and when he heard Jon told him how he caught her, he commended her on her courage and ability. He asked Lyanna Stark if she would show him these horse riding skills of hers that had outraced the best riders the Red Keep had. They rode out in the evening, and they didn’t return till dawn. No one had to guess what they were doing all night.

The next day, Rhaegar unhorsed four knights of the kingsguard on the final day of the joust. His final opponent was Barristan the Bold, who had defeated him once before in a tourney held at Storm’s End. But this time, though both the lances broke, it was Ser Barristan on the ground, and Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, the champion of the greatest tourney Westeros had ever seen. Jon had leapt up from his seat to cheer his prince with everyone else. But then his smile died, as did everyone else’s, when Rhaegar chose Lyanna Stark as the Queen of Love and Beauty over his own royal wife.

Jon had sought out Rhaegar to ask why he did what he did. But the prince was reluctant to discuss the matter. It was as if he himself didn’t know why he had potentially alienated both House Stark and Storm’s End, just for a girl. All Jon could get out of him was _It seems that three are not needed, but only one. A three headed dragon._ Jon didn’t know what to make of that.

It was understandable. Anything could happen where a woman was concerned. Jon wouldn’t have scolded him or anything for giving in to lust, even though it was utterly unlike Rhaegar. But Rhaegar wouldn’t answer Jon’s questions anymore. He pushed him away, as if this was also something he would rather discuss with Arthur Dayne. Jon had left his tent with hot ears.

The scandal seemed to blow over harmlessly however. Aerys seemed to think so at least. The king wore a smug demeanor in the court in the days immediately after his return, probably happy that Rhaegar had bungled his one chance of getting as many lords of Westeros on his side as he could. The Red Keep returned to its old rivalries. Rhaegar returned to Dragonstone to see his children, for what would be his last time, and Jon put the incident out of his mind…

Until the day Brandon Stark rode into the Red Keep, accusing Rhaegar of abducting his sister and shouting for him to come out and die. Jon soon learned of the abduction of Lyanna Stark near Harrenhal. He didn’t understand. Brandon Stark was obviously wrong and didn’t want to admit that his sister might have gone willingly with Rhaegar. But then again, Stark didn’t know what had transpired between the two of them at the Tourney of Harrenhal. But Jon did. Jon couldn’t understand why Rhaegar hadn’t told _him_ anything about this. Jon would be the one person to understand _why_ Rhaegar had to meet with Lyanna Stark?

Rhaegar and Jon had been companions since they were boys. They had learned lessons at the knees of the same maester since the age of eight. They had learned horse riding side by side, taken up their first lances side by side. They had fought endless number of matches in the yard, been monsters and heroes of old in their fantansies, saving maidens left and right. They had laughed together and gotten hurt together. And yet Rhaegar hadn’t asked for Jon’s help to meet the woman he loved. And need help he would, Jon was sure. Something had to come out of all the alliances forming in the north, Rhaegar had to know that.

And something did come, pushed along by Aerys’ madness. The battle of Gulltown was the first. Jon was too preoccupied with himself to care, however. It wasn’t until little Rhaenys, recently returned to the Red Keep with her mother, asked him where her father was, and he reassured her that he was coming back soon and that everything was going to be okay that he asked himself what he was doing to make it so. He was ashamed of his anger then. Ashamed that he had presumed on Rhaegar’s friendship. Rhaegar was a prince, and right now he needed Jon to defend his family’s honor. It had been then that he wrote to Lord Grandison advising him to mount a resistance against Robert in Storm’s End. He was too late however, and Robert was able to smash the loyalist armies before they could unite against him. It was to correct his mistake, and to prove to Rhaegar that he could trust Jon no matter what, that he had taken the proffered position of Hand of The King when Aerys had run out of his lickspittles at the court.

That venture had failed. Jon had never met with Rhaegar again. Many of the things that happened then or since were known to Jon better than they would have been if he hadn’t wised up in his exile. Yet one question remained. Why didn’t Rhaegar bring his Queen of Love and Beauty to the Red Keep if he intended to marry her?

The coming days did little to answer that question, though they were beneficial in other ways, until they were not. Lord Harmen Uller’s resistance to the exchange reduced considerably as he cooled off. Jon sent men to meet with Lancel Lannister, advising him to be present with Arianne and Aegon at a day’s distance from Tumbleton. There were some more letters from Harrold Hardying, but the man was sticking to his demand of Aegon marrying Shireen, and Jon wasn’t ready to relent just yet. On the other hand, news came from Dragonstone that it had fallen to Lord Gargalan, and that the he had also met with Cersei’s erstwhile master of ships, one Aurane Waters, who he wanted to enter the services of the rightful king of Westeros. The man brought with himself strong dromonds and warships to augment the fleet that was a gift from Magister Illyrio. All Aurane Waters asked for was the removal of the taint of bastardy from his name, and the title of Lord of Rosby. Jon was happy to oblige.

Their luck ran out soon however. Varys came to Jon’s apartments of an evening. “Ser Timothy has returned.” He said, “And he has a message for you and you only.”

Ser Timothy Buckles was a knight hailing from Griffin’s Roost. Jon had known him in his youth, and he was known to Ronnet who was a prisoner in Lancel Lannister’s camp. It had been to him that Jon had given the responsibility to take his messages to Lancel Lannister, for he didn’t want to use any man from the Reach, and couldn’t use a dornishman since they would be spotted in the army of the roses. Although Ser Tim clearly hadn’t been spotted by Garlan Tyrell’s men, something had gone wrong, judging from Varys’ expressions.

“I didn’t meet with the king, nor the princess.” Timothy, or Tim as Jon addressed him, said to Jon once he was seated in his chamber. He didn’t seem any worse for wear than when he had left for his journey. Except for in his eyes. “I sat down with Lord Lancel of a night. Lannister served me a list of excuses. At the time I thought they were valid concerns. He said that Tumbleton was already fortified by Tyrell loyalists, and they would find out. And that Garlan Tyrell had taken Aegon and the dornish princess from his hands, and he was watching Lannister’s every move. He wanted me to tell you that he was still up for the exchange, but just that you must do it after you defeat Tyrell. He said he had men enough in the army that he could surprise them from the rear, but he needed you to attack him first.”

“But?” Jon asked. If Lancel Lannister, being aware of the dangers of waiting, wanted to wait, Jon couldn’t do much to persuade him to change his mind from King’s Landing. Besides, his plan could be executed, he guessed. If Lancel Lannister betrayed Garlan Tyrell in the middle of the battle, Tyrell’s superiority in numbers wouldn’t matter much. Jon couldn’t see what the problem was.

“But, two days past Tumbleton, Symond Templeton fell upon us with fifty men.” Tim said, “He killed all of my men, and only left me alive. He gave me a letter to give to you.”

“Symond Templeton rides with Lord Harrold Hardying.” Varys supplied, “He holds the title of the Knight of Ninestars.”

Jon was horrified, “What was he doing at Tumbleton?” He asked, “Why would he kill your men?”

“For treating with Lannister.” Tim answered, fear in his voice at the memory, “I didn’t tell him nothing m’lord. I swear. But he already knew. We tried to surrender, but he told us, all calm and like, that only one of us was going to live. Those were his orders, he said, only the leader gets to live. He killed Marty even though he had thrown his sword at his feet. He also knew Lancel Lannister gave me nothing but excuses. He’d been expecting it, and he had been expecting us. He said I was to give to you the letter he was giving me. That it was from the new Vale Lord.”

Jon took the letter he produced. It was still sealed, and it bore the mark of the Lord of the Eyrie, a falcon. Jon tore it open, and read it together with Varys.

 _Loras Tyrell is alive, and is in his brother’s camp._ The letter said, _The High Septon let him live, and sent him to treat with me at Maidenpool, to try and sell me Myrcella Baratheon. He means to betray you in the middle of the battle, the High Septon, stab you in the back while he keeps Tommen out of harm’s way, so the walls you are hiding behind will be as good as paper._

_You still have time to come to your senses my lord. Rescind all offers made to Tyrion Lannister, and agree to let Shireen marry Aegon. Give me your word regarding this, and I will do all in my power to save your king from the Lannisters._

_Not yours as of yet, Harrold Hardying_

_Lord of the Eyrie and the Vale of the Arryns_

_The true warden of the East._

Varys had finished before Jon. He was now staring at Jon with a grim look on his face. Before he said anything, Jon held up a hand. “You should go and get yourself right.” He said to Ser Timothy, “Thank you for all you have done. I will call on you if I have need of you.” Tim nodded and left the room.

Jon turned to Varys. He clutched the letter in his hand and bit off each word. “There’s a lot that this letter says, but the first thing I want to know, is that how did the man know where to find Timothy and what his mission was.”

Varys’ mouth opened, and closed like a fish. Jon crumpled the parchment in his hand, “And he killed all his men. Why’d he have to do that?”

“It’s a warning, most like my lord” Varys said apologetically, “We haven’t given in to his demands. This might be his way of telling us that he isn’t afraid to use the sword.”

Jon shook his head, “And what about this Loras Tyrell business?” He asked, “Is he playing us? Or is there any truth in it.”

“I think he is telling the truth my lord.” Varys said. “It explains many odd things about all this mess. For one, I never pegged His High Holiness just another greedy commoner who wanted what everyone else wanted, castles and lands and titles. Even after he made those demands of us, Harrenhal and more men and funds for a new sept, I just couldn’t see it. The man sleeps in the castle sept every night, at the feet of a different god each night. Before that, his rooms echo to screams.” He shuddered, “Dreadful screams my lords, they give me nightmares. He applies the lash to his own back every evening until he almost can’t lift it, all the while screaming for the Father’s forgiveness and the mother’s mercy, all the while screaming that it was only once that he strayed, only once. But he also begs the warrior for courage and for the crone to light the path before him. Now we know why.

“Also, this explains why Queen Margaery reacted to our offer the way she did.” He looked at Jon in a way that said, _I told you that wasn’t who she was,_ “She was hoping to keep us preoccupied with the exchange, while her brave brother made his way to Lancel Lannister and Garlan Tyrell, informing them of the High Septon’s plan. And he must have done just that, which explains why Lancel Lannister is dealing us with excuses.”

“And why he told us to attack Garlan Tyrell’s army,” Jon said softly, “instead of simply defending the city. That will require us riding out of the city, leaving His High Holiness to deal with fewer number of swords.” He shook his head, “I still don’t understand how Loras Tyrell is alive? Didn’t Ser Bronn say that he burned the body?”

“What he said was, ‘ _I saw them throw his body in the pyre, the High Septon’s men. He was too small to be Ser Robert, and Boros Blound died two days later.’_ He never saw his face, just the whites he was wearing. The High Septon could have arranged his men to put on that little farce just for him.”

“But so fast?” Jon asked in an unbelieving tone, “I don’t think even _you_ could have thought it all out so fast, _and_ kept Loras Tyrell hidden from Bronn’s men. Also, don’t forget he had just condemned Loras Tyrell to death just a few hour past. If I were him and I found Loras Tyrell again at my mercy, I would have executed my sentence.”

“But you are not him my lord.” Varys pressed, “If His High Holiness holds Tommen to be the true king in the eyes of gods and men, he will go to any lengths to keep him on the throne, I think. _That_ is the kind of man I had read him to be. And he did have time. It was the High Septon’s men who scaled the walls of Meagor’s Holdfast. His men, the Warrior’s Sons, were present with the mob when Ser Bronn threw the ropes down, while Ser Bronn’s own men were scattered all along the walls of the Red Keep as well as the city’s walls. When the mob came over the outer walls of the castle, His High Holiness led his men straight for Meagor’s, leaving Ser Bronn to fend off the incoming gold cloak and deal with the mob.”

The mob hadn’t been able to get into Meagor’s, Jon knew, and thank the gods, or the entire royal family might have died, leaving no hostages for Jon. He had known that the High Septon had rushed to secure Tommen, but he had thought that the High Septon was thinking of all the rewards he will get when he handed Tommen over to Jon, rewards he had ostensibly collected. But now he saw that the High Septon was not safeguarding Tommen only from Bronn, but from Jon as well. “We need to take Tommen out of his custody.” He said finally.

“Be careful my lord, if that is your plan. For he won’t go quietly.” Varys warned, “The city might even turn against us if you end up harming him. The pious have no fear for their life. He might force you to kill him if it means the city will turn against you.”

“So what? It is not like before. We have twenty thousand soldiers here to keep the mob in check.” Varys nodded. He glanced at the letter, “Lord Harrold has done us a great service by shedding light on this matter.”

“Yes,” Jon said irritably, flapping the letter, “I suppose even his demands can be met. Anders has been telling me to tell him yes, that is why I’d held off from telling him no for so long. Anders wants me to marry Aegon to Shireen for the time being, and then set her aside once Daenerys arrives. Just like Rhaegar meant to do to Elia, he says. The girl should step down without a fight, once she sees Daenerys’ dragons. Kings have set aside wives before, Anders said, though might be we didn’t have to do it the same way Meagor did.” Jon grimaced, “Even the thought leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth, but he says we owe this much to Dorne, that this is a necessity to save Arianne.”

“I know.” Varys said.

Jon looked at him, “How could you know? Did Anders talk to you as well?” He demanded.

Varys gave him a slimy smile. “I have been meaning to talk to you about these Dornish friends of ours, my lord. Their agenda might be deeper than seems from outside.”

Jon scowled at the eunuch. But he figured it won’t do any good to tell him to keep his little birds away from Jon. If one of them contracts the greyscale, what then? “What did you want to say?”

“Did you notice how Harmen Uller has become accepting of the Lannister pardons? You may not know, but it was only after Anders Yronwood took him into the city to some brothel that he mellowed down.” He giggled nervously, “Either the whores in Chataya’s girls have learned something new from the recently docked Myrish ship, or Anders Yronwood revealed something to Lord Uller.” He paused for a bit and tilted his head to a side, “We can guess what it was. What do you know about Quentyn Martell, my lord?”

Jon frowned, “Only that the boy is sick with flu, which is why he remained at Greenblood, where he is fostered with Anders Yronwood. I have never been satisfied with the explanation. I would very much have liked Doran Martell’s son leading Dorne’s armies. But Doran Martell did send us his daughter, and an army as well. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. But I guess you did.”

“It’s a habit.” Varys spread his hands, “Quenty Martell hasn’t been seen anywhere in Dorne in almost a year. The last I know of him was that he was in Lord Yronwood’s army above the Boneway. If he does have flu, it isn’t at Greenblood he is resting.”

“And if he doesn’t have flu?” Jon asked.

“Then we must acknowledge the possibility my lord,” Varys looked into Jon’s eyes, getting serious, “That you were not the only ones who knew about Daenerys. It makes sense for Doran Martell to know as well. He always kept an eye on Viserys. I suspect he was even planning something. And when Viserys died, his focus must have shifted to Daenerys.”

Jon gaped at him, “Are you suggesting that when we turned back at Volantis, Quentyn Martell was on his way to Daenerys?”

Varys nodded gravely, “You mustn’t fault Doran Martell, he didn’t even know of your existence. His movements slipped right past me, but as you well know, he is well versed in being discreet. All the same however, we are left with the possibility that Daenerys maybe already married once she arrives at Westeros.”

“And Anders Yronwood knows this.” Jon said slowly, “That is why he is willing to forgive us for Rhaegar’s betrayal, unlike Lord Uller was.”

“And that is also why he is urging you to marry Aegon to Shireen. So that when Daenerys arrives, it will be more convenient for us all to let the marriages be the way they are, rather than nullify them.”

“But then a conflict about the throne will emerge.” Jon moaned, his hand going to his forehead, “Aegon’s claim is stronger than that of his aunt’s, but Daenerys has dragons.”

“Which is why Yronwood isn’t asking that if Aegon marry Arianne,” Varys concluded, “and letting him marry Shireen. He can see that these are the seeds of the next Dance of Dragons, and he is choosing the side with dragons. You must not give in to Harrold Hardying’s demand of Aegon marrying Shireen my lord, and pray that Daenerys doesn’t marry Quentyn Martell before finding out about Aegon.”

Jon stood up and went to the window, not really seeing the darkling sky outside. “Go spy on the High Septon, Lord Varys.” He said, “Have mercy on me for the nonce, and save anything else you have for the morrow.”

Varys stood up, “There isn’t. I will send word to Meereen as soon as I can of Aegon and how badly we need Daenerys and her dragons in Westeros, if that’s okay with you. We may hope that it helps.” He paused for a moment, “Regarding His Worship, I shall try to see if he has confided in any of his soldiers his plan. I think he must have selected only a few, if even that, for most would follow his orders regardless of what they are, when they are bid. If only a few know, we may not have to confront him and have the city turned against us. They can all have little accidents.”

“Yes. Go see to it.” Jon waved him out. He closed and barred the door once he was alone, and threw himself on the bed. His head had started to ache. He hadn’t had any supper yet, but his appetite was completely gone. He lay in bed, hoping for sleep.

But sleep didn’t come. Not that night, nor the next night, or the next one after it. Jon spent his days trying to hide all his fears from his councilors. In the nights, he found himself devising mad schemes for rescuing Aegon, each one madder than the one before. He remembered Little Rhaenys, and how Jon had told her that everything was going to be okay. It hadn’t though. And it seemed as if it was happening again.

Two days later, Varys approached him. “Only two of his men stay in the Red Keep day and night along with himself.” He told Jon, “They never leave, and are always in the vicinity of Tommen and Margaery. The High Septon must have only told them, and told them to keep an eye on Tommen.”

“I see.” Jon said to the eunuch. “That is good news.” He put a hand on Varys’ shoulder, a gesture that seemed to surprise the master of whisperers, though not as much as Jon’s next words did, “Leave it to me then, my lord. Don’t trouble yourself over it anymore.”

The next morning, Jon invited the High Septon to break his fast with him. He had the kitchens prepare a simple fare, for he meant for this to become a regular thing. The idea had come to him when he had spied the High Sparrow limping into the castle sept after diligently and thoroughly asking his god for courage and forgiveness. _I don’t need to kill him, I just need to discredit him._ I just need to show the world that his gods hadn’t forgiven him.

Outside, the weather was miserable. The sky had a roof of clouds. The morning was cold, but it wasn’t so cold that it would start snowing. The temperature wouldn’t rise till it snowed however, and so Jon could see it wouldn’t improve during the day either. He was standing in front of the hearth when the cooks came to tell him that the tables were set.

Jon went to the tables before the High Septon showed up. It were just the two of them, and so there were only two plates. And two wine goblets. Jon made sure he was alone in the room, and undid the glove on his left hand.

The hair on his neck stood up as he stared at the rough, blackened hand. He picked up a knife, and pressed it to his index finger. A cut opened, though Jon felt nothing. Slowly, thick black blood oozed out to make a fat droplet on the tip of Jon's finger. He positioned the bleeding finger above the High Septon’s wine goblet, and squeezed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheesh, that lasted a while!!!
> 
> So, I was very excited to write this chapter. The seasoned fans of the series must have noticed the references to the Southron Ambitions of Rickon Stark theory. I just wanted to say that it wasn’t me who the credit for that theory belongs to, but some obscure fan in the great ASOIAF fandom. If you haven’t read about it, I recommend you go do it at the earliest. The first time I read it, I couldn’t sit down for an hour.(The same goes for R+L=J)
> 
> Au revoir, till next time


	40. Sansa IV

Two women met by the riverbank under the willow tree. One had a great white wolf with her. Apart from the moon peeping from a crack in the clouds above and the wolf, there was no one in sight, save a raven, almost hidden by the leaves of the willow.

“Mother,” said one of the women, embracing the other, “It is so good that you are finally here.”

The woman with the wolf, the mother, hugged her daughter harder, “I was worried about you. When we heard about the fire, I didn’t know what to think. I kept seeing Dacey, and how I won’t be able to live if you were taken from me as well.”

The second woman, the daughter, pulled back, “It takes more than one crazy witch to kill me.” Beside them, the river ran relentlessly looking like a swarm of threads in the moonlight. In the west, far away, the burned forest looked ghostly with the dust and smoke hanging on it like a veil.

The daughter nodded to the wolf. “Is that him?”

“Ghost.” The first woman said. She wore a green cloak whose ends were frayed as if torn by spear points, the other was clad in grey furs, though both looked almost black in the sparse moonlight. “Jon Snow’s wolf, if I am not mistaken. I took the charge of scouts just to find him, lest he fall in the Blackfish’s hands.”

“Good thing.” The second woman said, “The boy needs him, I think. Now more than ever.”

“How is he?” The green cloaked woman asked.

“In a bad shape, mother.” Said the daughter. “He spends the whole day and night immersed in the drink. He sits in the same corner of his cell, brooding and staring into thin air. He watched a mother try to burn her own daughter, and he killed the woman that saved his life, brought him back from the dead, if the tales can be believed. It’s had an effect on him.”

“He must face worse things in the future.” The mother warned. “He is to be the King in the North.”

The daughter nodded. “What is the plan now, mother?”

“The plan?” her mother laughed, “You must be japing. The gods have kicked away all our plans, as soon as we have made them. First Stannis, then Rickon and now Sansa Stark. I am not ungrateful to the girl for avenging Dacey, but it’s brought us to this mess, hasn’t it? There’s no plan anymore. Only war.”

“Why? I have Jon Snow. Lord Davos has Rickon Stark. Both kings are in the same camp, now that Lord Davos has declared for Snow. We can force the Blackfish to listen at least.”

“He has more men than us truer for his cause than we do. For talks to happen, these numbers should at least be roughly equal. He has ten thousand Valemen. Lord Reed’s two and half thousands, though I and Galbart could maybe sway some of them. Manderley seems undecided for now. He sent Lord Davos to bring back Rickon Stark, but Lord Davos has himself declared for Snow, and that’s put Manderley in a dilemma. But he is more like to support Sansa Stark than a bastard of the Night’s Watch. If we called a council, Roose Bolton will find out about our plans, and he will most certainly give his support to the Blackfish, in exchange for a pardon. Davos Seaworth has Karstarks and Umbers in his army. If need be, the Blackfish can put the Greatjon in fetters and make the Umbers his own, and Harrold Hardying has freed Harrion Karstark at Maidenpool, which makes the Karstark his as well. Against that, who do we have?”

It was plain that the daughter wasn’t happy to think about this. “The men Snow led for Selyse, I suppose. Three thousand and some. I can only be sure of half the mountain clans however. One of Liddle’s men claimed to have seen Brandon Stark, the boy whose legs didn’t work, with three companions in their hills, two of whom I think were Howland Reed’s children. This was way back, just after Winterfell was torched by the Bastard of Boltons, Bran Stark was heading to the wall to meet with his brother at the wall. He never met with Snow, obviously, but Liddle’s been in Rickon’s camp from even before there was a camp, and he’d had taken all the other clans with him, those who believed in his man’s tale at least. I brought half of them back, but barely. Norrey and Flint, they witnessed Snow dealing with the wildlings at the wall, and Big Bucked is impressed by this talk of the burning sword. They won’t mind having Snow as their king. It were them that stopped me from killing him, when I named him a deserter. I wouldn’t have killed him,” She explained upon seeing her mother’s expressions, “I was only feeling the clans out, to see who all were sympathetic to Snow after the fire, and after we decided to show the southron army the door. If none of them had stopped my hand, I myself was planning to make the point of Sansa Stark not being happy with us for killing her brother.”

“You still named him a deserter.” Said her mother, “We are supposed to crown the man. How do you crown an oathbreaker?”

“But who am I, mother? No one. An heir. A girl that wants her grandsire’s sword. I figured, when all is done and there is fresh snow on the ground, you could scold me, wave the king’s decree in my face, and set Snow free.”

“I see,” Her mother said, “I confess I don’t like the notion of scolding my own daughter in front of half the lords of the North, but I suppose it could have been done.”

“Anyhow,” The daughter continued, “Big Bucket, The Norrey and The Flint, and maybe the Harclays, they won’t mind Snow as their king, but I don’t know if they will take up swords against a legitimate Stark heir.”

“Jon Snow _is_ a legitimate Stark heir.” Her mother said fiercely, “No matter. At least we have Lord Seaworth.” Her voice swelled with pride, “That was very well done, Aly, getting him in to our side.”

But the daughter was having none of that. “Even that was almost ruined. I didn’t hear this about the burning sword until it was almost too late. Lady Brienne was still out of it, and I had already heaped all the blame on the southron army. It was only when I heard Brienne’s story that it struck me that I could use this. The southron knights loved their king’s sword. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to see if his Hand will care to see that burning sword in another’s hand, a man Stannis had trusted. I sent Brienne to his camp for this reason only, so she could tell him that Jon Snow’s sword was burning.”

“Is it really burning? Thoros told me about Beric Dondarrion’s sword, but I never saw it.”

“Neither did I, Jon Snow’s I mean. Brienne and young Shireen both said it did though. But when I tried to question Snow about it, he merely looked bitterly at it and then immersed himself in his skin of beer.”

“He will come out of it.” The mother said confidently, “He must.” She nodded to the direwolf, “Take his wolf to him, and tell him that the gods gave him a second chance at the wall for the sake of the north. He must salvage his brother’s kingdom.” She sighed and shook her head, “He should never have been allowed to leave the wall, not so early. That wasn’t part of the plan. He was to be called to rule by a council of the northern lords, lords who would have picked him once they all knew of Robb’s decree. Instead, we’ve gotten this mess, two brothers about take up swords against each other.” She shook her head again, “That is not the northern way. This no decent man’s way.”

“I know.” Her daughter said heatedly, “I tried mother, you don’t think I did? I couldn’t reply to you, you had said, because Lord Reed might find out. So you don’t know what all I had to face. I had to walk a tightrope between your demands and the realities on the ground. You told me to free Deepwood from the Ironmen and gather up the mountain clans to support our claim for Jon Snow against Bolton, but Stannis showed up at the Deepwood, with the mountain clans already with him. When he died, Selyse marched, and she brought Jon Snow with him when I knew you wanted him at the wall till the last moment. And I tried to do just that, send him back. I protested against his involvement, against his every move. I shook my fist at them, and I shook my sword at him. But the clan chiefs were happy to let him lead, only until he wins the castle for his brother, Liddle said to me. It was only when he got stranded on the island could I remove him from their graces. But by then, it was too late.”

“I know it was difficult.” Her mother said, “But you have done well child. It might be late for our plan of a council, but it’s not too late for Jon Snow. The Blackfish is unafraid of Lord Davos. He thinks Seaworth is alone in his support for Snow. Even the Greatjon has stopped from shouting about the will, at my behest. I have assured the Blackfish that you holding Shireen will prevent Seaworth from interfering in our attack on Winterfell, he also thinks you are more than four days away, for the scouts are all mine. I will inform you when our attack begins, most likely it will begin tomorrow. When you come, we can…”

“Stab him in the back.” Her daughter finished for her bitterly, “Brynden Blackfish. Father used to tell me tales of his deeds in the war of the Ninepenny Kings. Now I am supposed gut him when he has come all the way from Riverrun to liberate the north from Roose Bolton.” Her mother tried to say something, but she cut her off. “Why are we doing this mother? Lady Sansa has a point, Robb Stark didn’t know that his brothers were alive when he wrote that will. Even Lady Catelyn doesn’t want to go along with it anymore. That’s why she rode out of your camp to stop Brienne from killing Stannis. Why are _we_ still fighting on this?”

“Because, it was the King’s word.” The mother’s voice was pained, “Besides, Rickon Stark is a boy of six. All he will make is a puppet king. And it won’t be Catelyn who rules him, even if she makes it out of Winterfell alive. The way she looks, it will be a contest to see who deserts her first. And it will be all the worse with this wildfire” She gestured to the ghostly wolfswood in the distance, “and the red witch who started it, and the stories coming from the Wall as well. And if the Aegon in King’s Landing, or even Tommen’s men, decided to march north, even gods couldn’t help us. A boy king is a bane of any kingdom, worse if it is a new kingdom. Jon Snow, legitimized, is the best candidate, anyone could see that.”

“Putting Snow on the throne won’t bring summer either mother. The Valemen would be still in the north, angry at us for stabbing them in the back. Lord Davos will want to march south. The peace Sansa Stark is trying to bring between the north and the south will also be gone. And then there will be Lady Catelyn to oppose Jon Snow as well.”

“Lady Catelyn won’t make it out of Winterfell. No way Bolton’s going to let her live when the Blackfish attacks.”

“He won’t. But Lady Barbray will. She’s itching to abandon Bolton, Manderley saw to it, and he told me about it, back when Stannis was alive. There were murders happening at Winterfell. Someone was killing the Freys, and the Bastard’s Boys. Most likely, it was happening on Manderley’s own orders. The castle was in chaos. It must have shaken her confidence in Bolton. Theon Greyjoy told us all about it when he was in Stannis’s camp. He was blubbering as he hung from the wall, but he described a visit by Lady Barbray to the crypts of Winterfell. He said she just wanted to spit on Ned Stark’s grave, but it could have just as well been to check the story Manderley had told her. He kept crying about missing swords, Greyjoy did, and how the dead kings of winter were restless.”

“He told us about that as well.” Her mother said, “When his sister came to Lady Catelyn’s camp. And later he told the tale to Ser Brynden as well. He told him that Lady Barbray meant to feed Ned Stark’s bones to dogs if they ever made it out of the bogs. That’s why Ser Brynden went out of his way to take Barrow Hall.”

The daughter nodded. “I was afraid that Lady Barbray will contact the Blackfish and spill the beans on our plans, in exchange for Barrow Hall. That’s why I sent those hundred men to Winterfell. To make sure she doesn’t tell on us, and also to make her the same offer for Lady Catelyn’s freedom.” She looked to the ground and said hesitantly, “I don’t think I can get a message telling to her past Bolton to let Lady Catelyn die.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” Her mother said. After a pause, she said, “All that will be Snow’s problem. We must focus on getting him to his rightful seat.” She patted the wolf beside her, “Take him to Jon…”

Many things happened at once. At Jon’s name, the white wolf suddenly sprang at the woman in front of it. The horses whinnied in fear, and the women’s screams mingled in them. On the willow tree, the raven screamed as well, so loud that a hundred leagues away, Sansa Stark woke up from a dream in cold sweat.

Her heart was pounding inside her chest. At first she was much disoriented, surprised to find herself in a bare stone room, safe under a blanket. She had just been a raven, with feathers and a tail and a beak. It had felt so real. And the women talking down below…

With shaking hands, Sansa felt her face. Her skin was hot, the heart thudding deep within. But there was no beak, no feathers. It was just a dream. A terrible dream, a strange dream, but a dream only. She wiped at her face, wiping away the sweat. Briefly she wondered if Alysanne Mormont was okay. It had to have been her in the dream, with her mother Lady Meage, the Lady of Bear Island. But then she again remembered that it had just been a dream, and that it couldn’t have hurt Lady Alysanne. She laughed then, a hollow, scared sounding laugh. It was only a dream. Lady Meage wasn’t really plotting to crown Jon. I wasn’t a raven perched on a tree.

Getting up from the bed, she poured herself some water and drank it like a woman parched. When she set the goblet down, she looked at the bed. I don’t think I can go back to sleep. My gods, what a strange dream… She laughed again. She was too old to be frightened of dreams. She had dreamt worse before.

 Shaking her head at her own silliness, she went back to the bed and laid down. But sleep wouldn’t come. The dream kept coming back to her, the things that the duo had said. _There is no plan, only war… He is to be the king in the north._

Frustrated, she got up from the bed. Sleep was nowhere in sight, and lying down and staring at the ceiling was only serving to riling her up. Maybe I should just read, till the sun comes up and I can go to break my fast.

Sansa was at the Castle Cerwyn, a guest of Lady Jonelle, who was now the Lady of Castle Cerwyn since her little brother had died. The castle was only half a day’s ride from Winterfell where Ser Brynden besieged Winterfell with Lord Reed. She was given the room she would stay in whenever she would visit the castle back when she was little. It brought a sad smile on her face, thinking about running about with Clay and Jeyne. From what Sansa had heard, Jeyne was in Lord Seaworth’s camp, with the black brother’s that were his guests. Ser Brynden had promised Sansa to bring her to her.

For now though, she fed logs to the small fireplace in the wall and took a flint to the straw. Once the fire was blazing, she lay down in front of it and pulled out the book the new book she meant to read. A book named The Princess and The Queen by Archmaester Gyldayn lent to her by Harry.

Harry loved reading about wars fought long ago. The bloodier the better. He was like Bran, Sansa’s little brother, in that. Sansa hadn’t much stomach for it though, but she would listen to his stories as they had marched to the twins. Harry had taken her polite interest for enthusiasm however, and he had collected books for her from Lord Walder’s library at the Twins. “You should first read The Lives of the Four Kings.” He had said to her, and she had, if only to keep him happy. She had remembered that this was the same book her husband had gifted to Joffrey. The one he had destroyed. This book wasn’t in Grand Maester Keath’s own hand, but even if it had been, it wouldn’t have mattered. The book had bored her, and she had set it aside as soon as Harry had left Moat Cailin to march south. Harry had asked about her progress with the book in his first letter to her however, and she couldn’t lie to him. So she had taken up the book again.

It was while she was reading about the reign of King Baelor that she began to be fascinated. Baelor the Blessed was the holiest man ever to walk the earth, or so her septa had told her when Sansa was a little girl. The smallfolk had loved him, even now they all took Baelor’s name with love. But it seemed like Keath couldn’t find a single good thing to say about godly king. She read all of it with sick fascination, her opinion of Baelor the Blessed changing bit by bit with every page. And the knights and kings in the book were not noble either, like she had witnessed them in the septa’s stories, but more and more like she herself had encountered. She wondered how she could have been so blind.

She had finished the book quickly after that, for there wasn’t much else to do on the march. Ser Brynden was busy with his councils, and even her personal guard, this also given to her by Harry: Ser Wallace Belmore, Ser Lyn Corbray and Ser Mychel Redfort, didn’t have much to say to her, now that Harry wasn’t hanging by her. Myranda was also spending time with Robett Glover. It would be only Sansa and Ser Lothar Brune side by side, and that too because Ser Lothar didn’t have anywhere to go. The books were a good way to pass the time. They also helped her take her mind off the memories of her last journey on this road, if only in the opposite direction, with her father and Arya, and Lady.

When the book finished, it was a one of the smaller ones, detailing only one war the sun had come up and the call for breaking the fast had already come and gone. She was staring out the window, thinking about how Viserys had hidden his dragon egg and disguised himself as a common ship’s boy. He had ended up in Lys, only to be later recovered by the Oakenfist Alyn Velaryon and then going on to serve hand for two kings for fifteen years, and even become the King of the Seven Kingdoms himself. She couldn’t help getting over the enormity of it, and she couldn’t help but think of how similar this was to Rickon going to Skagos, and how different, when Ser Lyn knocked on her door. “Ser Brynden has a gift for you.” He said when she opened it.

“What is it?” She asked, excited. “Come and see.” The knight gave her a smile. She ran in front of him, thinking of Jeyne. Or was it about her mother, Lady Catelyn. She was worried sick about her. Sansa had thought her dead, and then she had turned out to be alive. And now that Sansa was here, she was on the wrong side of the walls of Winterfell. It could be some news of her. Bolton’s agreed to give her back. She didn’t let herself hope that it was Lady Catelyn herself. She made her way to the Great Hall of the castle, passing a startled Jonelle in the way.

She lurched to a stop when she saw the direwolf, a white wolf with red eyes.

Standing beside the direwolf in the center of the great hall, her uncle was smiling like he was giving her the world. “The scouts found him.” He said to her, “He’s Jon Snow’s direwolf. Ghost I think he’s called.”

“Ghost.” Sansa whispered, staring at the wolf which was staring right back with solemn eyes, “Lady Meage’s scouts?” She said without thinking.

Her uncle’s smile faltered, “Yes.” He looked from her to the wolf, “Don’t be afraid. It won’t hurt you. You are a Stark. Come closer.” He paused for a bit, “This would be how big your own wolf would be if Cesei hadn’t had her killed. It was cruel what happened to her.”

Sansa only half heard what he was saying. Her mind was reeling from the memory of the dream. Ghost had been in it. Lady Meage had found him. But when she tried to give him to her daughter, he had attacked them. “How is Lady Meage?” Sansa heard herself ask.

Ser Brynden frowned, “How’d you know about her.” He looked about himself as if someone will come forward saying that they told her, “She’s… She’s fine. She was in an altercation with some wolves, but she saw Maester Amos and he bandaged her. There’s too many wild animals out there right now, having been driven out of the forest by the fire.” He glanced from her to the wolf again, “Sansa, I thought you would be happy. I know Robb loved Grey Wind, and Catelyn told me how you’d brush Lady’s fur. You can have a wolf again now.”

For a moment Sansa was touched that he would remember her direwolf’s name, that he would even know. “I am fine uncle. I _am_ happy” She lied. She was getting better at it, “But Ghost belongs to Jon.”

Ser Brynden looked at her puzzled. Then he looked around the hall again, “Clear the room.” He ordered.

Sansa felt Ser Lyn go back up the stairs behind her. Others, maids and servants and soldiers, they scurried from the room at her uncle’s command. Someone closed the main door.

Ser Brynden looked back at Sansa. “Come here child.”

Sansa hesitated. Ser Brynden waved her over, telling her not to be afraid. She made herself take a step, and then another, all the while her eyes on Ghost. She didn’t know what she was afraid. She didn’t think he would attack her like he had done to those women in the dream, but then, he had been just as calm in the dream as he was now. No, she was afraid that if she went too near she’d find out that the wolf in front of her was real, and that would mean the dream… was something more than a dream. In this world where the dead were revived, what were dreams that proved real?

Once she was close enough, Ser Brynden put a hand on her shoulder. Sansa took her gaze from Ghost’s eyes to her uncle’s. He was looking at her with worry, “They think of you as a southerner, almost a Lannister.” He said to her gently, “They love you, make no mistake, but with this wretched fire and the mountain clans putting all the blame on the southron influences, the northmen are uneasy with ten thousand Valemen besieging Winterfell. It will be good for you to have a wolf beside you. Robb did, and they all knew that. When they see you and Ghost, together, there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind that you are a Stark, Ned Stark’s daughter.”

“He is Jon’s wolf.” Sansa repeated, “He needs him.”

“Jon Snow will not be in this world for long.” Said Ser Brynden, not unkindly. “He is a deserter from the wall, and there are people making noises about making him King in the North, Davos Seaworth chief in it. It’s the stupidest gamble I’ve seen, if the man was vying for support, he could have done a lot better than an oathbreaker destined for the block. Only he has Rickon with him, so we must suffer this folly for a while longer. I know many of the knights in his army personally, men who do not want to serve under a smuggler, men who just want to go back to their homes now that Stannis is dead and salvage what’s left of them. There will be a mutiny there soon, you’ll see,” He smiled, “and then we will have Rickon and Winterfell back. Then we will deal with your brother, not now. For now, keep the wolf beside you.”

“When you take Winterfell…”

“You’ll be the Lady of Winterfell.” Ser Brynden finished for her, “You cannot be seen as doling out favors to oathbreakers, even if they are your brothers. Jon Snow especially, the man who sold the Night’s Watch castles to Stannis and set Melisandre on the Wolfswood, the man who let the wildlings through the Wall into the north, into Winterfell itself.”

He was right about that. If Jon was indeed a deserter, and oathbreaker, there was nothing she could do to save him. It was the law. But it didn’t matter, Sansa knew. For all the things Ser Brynden named Jon, all she heard was _the man who Robb named king_. He doesn’t know about the women under the willow tree though. He doesn’t know about the knife in his back. Could she tell him? About the dream? Would he believe her? Sansa herself didn’t believe there was something to believe. But Ghost was here…

“Why did you attack Barrow Hall?” She asked him.

Ser Brynden frowned, “The Barrow Hall? Why… Lady Barbray Dustin didn’t return to her seat like we asked her to do, like _you_ asked her to do. She stayed at Winterfell with Roose Bolton. That is why.”

“It could have happened that Lord Bolton didn’t let the message reach Lady Barbray.”

“She didn’t like the Stark’s, that’s why she didn’t return. Theon told us about the things she said to him at Winterfell. She blamed Lord Eddard for her husband’s death below the Tower of Joy. She was planning to feed his bones to dogs if she could get her hands on them.”

If he expected her to wince, he was disappointed. But Sansa’s mind _was_ reeling. A feeling of dread was setting in her stomach. That’s what Lady Meage had said in Sansa’s dream. And she had been planning to attack Ser Brynden as he stormed the walls of Winterfell. Sansa’s mouth was dry. Should she tell him about her dream? Would he take it seriously?

Something held her back. If he knew, if he believed, he might attack Lady Meage and her daughter’s men himself, before they could betray him. Sansa didn’t want that. Lady Meage was only trying to do what she thought was the best for the north. Sansa couldn’t condemn her for that. But more than that, Sansa had come here to help the north get back on its feet from their recent defeats and humiliations, not to bloody it even more. There had to be some other way. Maybe she could talk to Lady Meage. “Take me to the camp, great uncle.” She heard herself say.

Some of her emotions must have showed on her face, for Ser Brynden gave her a searching look. “You aren’t only Ned Stark’s daughter.” He decided finally, “You are Catelyn’s brood as well. And when you want something, you’ll get it.” He squeezed her shoulder, “I’ll take you to the camp, but promise me that you will keep in mind that whatever you do, it will affect your mother, and your brother as well.”

Sansa rode into the camp with Ghost at her side. The pair of them got a lot of stares. And gasps and cries of ‘wolf’ as well. She couldn’t help but grin as the knights of the Vale, the fearless warriors from the Mountains of the Moon, almost fell off of their feet to get out of her way. Even Ser Lyn and Ser Lothar, who had followed Sansa and Ser Brynden from Castle Cerwyn, kept their distance from the trio.

The reactions of the northmen was different. They had seen a direwolf before. They cheered at the sight, just like Ser Brynden had promised. Sansa couldn’t help but feel giddy, forgetting about her dream for the moment. Even though she knew Ghost belonged to Jon, it was as if a hole in her heart was filled, a hole named Lady. And it could stay that way forever and ever…

The dogs in the kennels started barking as she passed beside it. Ghost paid them no mind, and neither did Sansa. She heard a shriek, and she looked to her right. Myranda Royce was standing there by her brother Albar. “Nice pet.” Ser Albar called out, though his wary hand was on the hilt of his sword. Sansa grinned and waved at him. Maester Amos came almost bounding out of a tent, “Is that a direwolf?” He said in childlike wonder, showing no fear the fully armored knights around him were showing, “Maester Aemon wrote to the citadel about Jon Snow’s wolf…”

“He is Sansa’s wolf now.” Ser Brynden said from behind Sansa.

Sansa’s smile faltered a little. Her eyes fell on a duo standing ahead of her. Lady Meage was standing there with fat Lord Wyman Manderley, their eyes wide at the sight of Ghost. Upon seeing the bandages of Meage Mormont’s hand, a chill went through Sansa’s spine. Her dream had been real. Somehow, she had stumbled on the plotting of the Mormont women.

All thoughts of talking to Lady Mormont went out of Sansa’s mind when she opened her mouth. “How’s your hand, Lady Meage?” She called out.

Lady Meage looked at her like she was coming out of a trance, “It-It is fine my lady. Maester Amos saw to it.”

“How is Lady Alysanne?” Sansa asked. People were looking at them, but no one could have guessed the biting rage inside Sasna’s mind. “Was she hurt bad?”

Lady Meage’s expressions told her that it wasn’t that bad, though what she said was, “Alysanne? She’s still five days away my lady. She wasn’t there.”

Sansa nodded, “Even so, tell her to be careful around wolves. They don’t take it kindly when people force them to go somewhere they don’t want to. You would do well to take note of that as well.” Sansa turned her horse just as Lady Meage’s eyes widened again and Lord Wyman bend down to talk to her.

Ser Brynden had been watching the talk with curious eyes. “What was that all about?” He asked.

“It’s nothing uncle.” Lady Meage was never going to tell her the truth, she realized. Lady Meage was desperate, Sansa had heard that in her dream. She was afraid that she had fewer men than she needed. If Sansa confronted her, it would be like backing a bear into a corner. The bear won’t have any way but the way of its claws. Lady Bear could tell her daughter to hasten her plan, making Sansa’s efforts fruitless. Considering that, maybe Sansa shouldn’t have said what she just had, but she couldn’t deny that she had felt some perverse pleasure in seeing the shock on Meage Mormont’s face.

Ser Brynden was watching her uncertainly, “Is there something…” He said, when Sansa thought of something, “Yes. Can you show me where Lord Reed’s tent is, Ser?” she asked. Meage Mormont was against Rickon ascending to the throne, so she won’t talk to Sansa, ever. But there was someone else. Sansa couldn’t remember all that had been said in the dream, but she could remember that Lady Meage had been trying to hide their movements from Lord Reed. The lord of Greywater watch was firmly in Rickon’s camp, Lady Meage had said so, that much Sansa remembered.

When she came to Lord Reed’s modest tent, she caught him when he was about to have lunch. Sansa was alone, having told her guards that they could go do whatever they wanted, that ghost was the only protection she needed. Lord Reed and some of his captains were seated around a trestle table, their plates were even on the table. They all rose to greet Sansa from behind the table. “Lady Sansa.” Said Lord Howland in a surprised, “I wasn’t expecting you. We were just about to sit down for the midday meal. Will you do us the honor of joining us?”

Sansa remembered the first time she had been in Howland Reed’s domain, travelling through the neck, on the horse or in the queen’s wheelhouse. It was the worst part of their journey, bogs and marshes and insects. On her way back now, it had almost been worse. In winter, the marshes looked dead. Sansa had been afraid to look at the dark swamp water, convinced that something was lurking just beneath the surface. Wherever something grew on the swamps, it would be covered by muddy snow, and sometimes there would be frozen animals staring at you from beneath. Myranda was convinced that she had once seen a human foot, though Sansa had been spared the sight.

Howland Reed was nothing like she feared him however. He wasn’t some filthy fisherman who swam in a marsh, or didn’t have webbed hands. But Ser Brynden had told her that the marsh dwellers did indeed eat frogs and other insects, including worms. She eyed the plates now, and found that she couldn’t say what was on the menu. She made herself smile, “I wanted to talk to you my lord.” She said, looking at his men, “I can come back later.”

“Or you could sit down and say your say and ask your ask.” Lord Howland nodded to his men. One by one they collected their plates and left the tent. “Come my lady,” Lord Reed said, coming to her and guiding her to the table. “I’ll serve you.” He said as he sat her on a chair.

He took a plate and some bowls over to the trencher and started filling them with venison and different broths. “I am afraid I cannot give you the native dishes from Greywater Watch, my lady. We ate through them even before we crossed the barrows. Even so, we still have some of the spices and herbs that only grow in the marshes. You will get to taste the flavors at the least.”

At the least. Sansa didn’t let her relief show. “My father always spoke fondly about the food from the marshes, and how different it was from at Winterfell.” He hadn’t really, not that Sansa remembered. But he had been to Greywater Watch, he must have eaten there. “Though I don’t remember what all dishes he named.” She said just to be safe. “And please, won’t you call me Sansa?”

“We have some of the same foods you do Sansa,” He smiled at her as he set the plate before her. “There are fish from the fever. You must’ve heard about the frogs however,” He smiled at her protest, “Everyone does. There are many types of frogs in the neck, and we cook them many different ways. Plants also form a large part of our diet, herbs and leaves and weeds.” He took his seat across from her.

Sansa pulled some of what looked like weed broth into her mouth with a spoon. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad. The slightly slimy grass even felt interesting in her mouth. She smiled, “It is good my lord.” It was army fare, but she could eat it.

They dug in. Sansa put a piece of venison on the floor for Ghost, and watched him grapple with it with his mouth. He wasn’t really hungry, she could feel, though she couldn’t tell how she knew. “You wanted to talk about something.” Lord Reed half stated, half asked.

Yes. But where to start? Sansa didn’t even know what to ask him. He clearly didn’t know about Lady Meage’s plan, otherwise he would have told Ser Brynden. But thinking about that made her think… “My lord, when did you find out Rickon was alive?”

Lord Howland frowned, sucking the marrow from a chicken bone. He set it down on his plate, “When the Greyjoy woman, Asha, came to our camp. It was a bit later than everybody else in the north, for we were marching in secret, away from the Kingsroad.”

“Then why were you already opposed to crowning Jon?”

Lord Reed started, “What gives you that idea?”

“Lady Meage and my mother were plotting with Lord Manderley for it, and Lady Alysanne was in on it too. Only, they were afraid that you’d find out.” Sansa just realized something, “Lord Manderley could have told her, if my mother hadn’t told him never to reply to her letters. She was afraid you’d find out. She rode out of your camp with so little swords with her to stop her plan of killing Stannis and crowning Jon. But if she had known about Rickon at Greywater Watch itself, she would never have made any such plan in the first place. She’d be here with us now then, instead of a prisoner in Winterfell.”

Lord Reed looked at a loss of words as he realized the truth of her words. He looked at her helplessly, like an ashamed child. Sansa didn’t care how guilty he felt. She was so angry. When she spoke, it all came out in a rush, “You must’ve objected in some strong words my lord, for my mother to go to such extremes to protect her plans from you.”

“I never knew of any plans.” Said Lord Howland Reed desperately, “Meage and Galbart were sending letters from even before Lady Catelyn arrived at Greywater Watch. They never told me anything about what was in them, and I didn’t ask. And when Lady Catelyn arrived, she showed me the will, and asked if I would help. I…”

“You said no. You refused to carry out your king’s will.”

“I had my reasons.” Howland Reed protested, “I told them to Lady Catelyn. Then I advised her to declare for Stannis instead. She hadn’t even known he was on the wall. She agreed with me that he was the best bet, Lady Brienne said so. She was on our meeting because I couldn’t… I couldn’t,” He cleared his throat, “I couldn’t understand what Lady Catelyn said. I agreed to head her army.”

“Because you thought Stannis had your children.” Sansa countered, “Did Liddle tell you? That they were heading for the Wall with Bran?”

Lord Reed winced as if he had been struck, “How do you know all this?” He asked puzzled. When he got no response, he glanced at ghost, and gave a chortle as if he had just realized something, “Of course. I forgot who I was talking to, forgive me. You’re a Stark. My son told me that the old powers are waking.”

“Your son…?”

“Jojen. He has the gift of greendreams. He told me that he had to go to Winterfell, to free the wolf that was chained up there and take him beyond the wall.”

What was he talking about, “Green dreams? What wolf are you talking about?”

“Bran Stark. Jojen said that he had to help the boy realize his fate.”

“Realize his fate?” Sansa’s eyes widened, “He took Bran beyond the wall deliberately?”

“He was going to take him to the three eyed raven. Only I wasn’t sure if he succeeded or not, so I didn’t tell Lady Catelyn. Even so, I knew Jojen would see to his own safety, and that of his friends, his greendreams help him in that. He sees the morrow in them. At Greywater Watch, he dreamt of the sea rushing over the walls of Winterfell, and then a month later, it was taken by Theon Greyjoy.”

Was that what had happened to Sansa? Was the dream she had was a glimpse of the future. Briefly, only briefly, she asked herself why she was believing this man. A month ago she would have told him to find better lies, for she was now a woman grown and flowered, and she didn’t believe in magic. But so much had happened since then. “Who is the Three Eyed Raven?”

“I know as much as you Sansa.” The man said helplessly, “The gods help us through the green dreams, but they are usually only enough to help you. Even when Jojen had had that dream about the sea, none of us could infer that it meant that the Greayjoys were going to take Winterfell, and we couldn’t prevent it. He knew nothing about the three eyed raven, only that he was beyond the wall, and that the old gods wanted him to take Bran Stark to him so he could teach him the old arts that were lost to Winterfell.” He gave a miserable shake of head, “He didn’t even know if he would come back.”

“How do you know it were the gods?” Sansa asked, sudden tears coming to her eyes. “How do you know that they were helping? Maybe they were just getting Bran out of Winterfell because they knew Theon wouldn’t kill him. Maybe they just wanted him dead.”

“That wasn’t it Sansa.” Lord Reed said looking at her, the food sitting forgotten between them. “We can’t know for sure, but we can hope. Why else would they give our Commander of the Night’s Watch a burning sword, just when there are reports coming from the wall about the wights? Your brother Bran also has a role to play. The gods are watching him, as they are watching you, I think.”

“And you, no doubt.” She wiped at her eyes with her sleeves. “You mentioned Jon’s burning sword. Does that mean you have changed your mind about him?”

“I don’t know, my lady.” He said almost miserably, “His sword will be of better use on the wall as Lord Commander, rather than at Winterfell as King. But then there is the question of his birth father.” He looked into Sansa’s eyes, “It was your father’s secret, and he made me promise not to tell another soul. I broke that promise with Lady Catelyn, and I think now the gods want you to know as well. For the truth is, I shouldn’t be the one making this decision, I am just a lowly lord. But you, my lady, are the Lady of Winterfell. This should be your decision. A Stark’s decision.”

Her father’s secret? Sansa sat up straight, and was later glad that she did. Lord Reed told her about Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. About Tower of Joy and a bed of blood and blue roses. He told her that Jon wasn’t her half-brother, but he was the blood of the dragon.

When he finished, Sansa just stared at him. She didn’t even realize her mouth was hanging open. When he realized she wasn’t going to say anything, couldn’t say anything, he continued, “I told Lady Catelyn that a Targaryen couldn’t sit on the High of Seat of Starks. The boy proved his blood when he rose to the rank of Lord Commander on the wall so quickly, but he was still a man of the Night’s Watch, and had sworn to not hold any lands nor any titles, and no king of Westeros could undo it, not even the young wolf.”

“He is not a man of the Night’s Watch anymore,” Sansa said, “not according to the black brothers that came to see Ser Brynden.”

“Yes, I was present when Ser Alliser spoke to the council,” He snorted derisively, “He fulfilled his oaths by dying. _Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death._ Would you stake the future of your dead brother’s kingdom on a play of words Sansa?”

“The future of my dead brother’s kingdom will be based upon whether the new king is able to defend it or not. Rickon is six. Jon, he can march south to take his father’s seat.” Rhaegar Targeryen, his father is Rhaegar Targaryen, the evil dragon prince who had abducted Sansa’s aunt before Sansa was borne and almost brought about the end of House Stark.

“Jon Snow cannot march south.” Lord Reed said however, “He has no claim on the Iron Throne. Rhaegar Targaryen’s first son is already there to claim it.”

“He is in Lannister captivity.” Harry had said so in one of his letter, “He may not get out unscathed.”

“Even so, the northern lords will not defend his claim. For one, they won’t believe us if we told them who he really is. They will think that this is a lie cooked up by you to make sure Rickon gets Winterfell and you will still have someone to go south and avenge your father. As for me, they respect me enough, but if push came to shove, to them I am just a coward who hid behind a rock while better men fought and died beneath the Tower of Joy. For second, in case they did believe us, he will be cast from any claim on King Robb’s throne even. The north still remembers all those who died in Robert’s Rebellion, and they still hate the Targaryens who cooked Lord Rickard alive in his own armor with a passion. But all that is not important, the important thing is that, if you are wrong about holding Jon Snow free of his vows, the gods will punish his kingdom for it.”

“Oh give a rest to this of the gods.” Sansa said, frustrated. “Don’t disregard the gods so my lady,” Lord Reed warned, “When men fail to do justice, the gods take the matters in their own hands. It is not said without cause that you get what you sow. When it is kings and queens getting what’s theirs, more times than not, it is through wars. Be it old gods or the new, laws must be upheld.”

“That’s children’s talk my lord.” Sansa said almost derisively, “I believed in gods too, I prayed to them all my time in King’s Landing. It was Petyr Baelish that saved me, not the gods that watched me be forced to get married to the Imp. You might say that it were the gods that sent Petyr to save me, but then why did they kill him? For that matter, why did they kill my father?”

“Because he lied, my lady. He told the world that Joffrey was Robert’s heir, when he knew it wasn’t so. You said so yourself. It was most likely done for you, I am sorry to say. The Lannisters must have threaten to kill you unless he gave them the confession they wanted. But even so, he sacrificed his honor then, and the gods made their justice. Joffrey is dead too though, and Tommen is on the verge of losing his throne. Gods take kings and their successions very seriously my lady, just look at history and you will know.” He pointed to Sansa with the fork he still held in his hands, “I know you read history my lady. Have you read about the dance?” Sansa nodded. “The great council of Jaeherys’ time had decided to favor the male heir instead of the female. Viserys ignored that decree, the very decree that gained him the throne, and the realm was dragged in one of the most fearsome wars it has ever seen. Rhaenyra was fed to a dragon alive. All of her children that the realm suspected were bastards died in the war, while Aegon and Viserys lived, her two true born sons from Daemon, both of whom went on to become kings, but only after Aegon the second.

“Against this you Aegon the Unworthy’s children. That deranged monarch thought that his heir came of brother’s seed, so he legitimized all his bastards, even pressed Blackfyre into Daemon’s hands, from which the bastard took his name. In the ensuing war all the Great Bastards that opposed Daeron died however, or were forced to flee across the narrow sea.

“You get to decide the next of the North’s wars, my lady.” He said after a pause. “The main difficulty with King Robb’s will, his freeing Lord Snow of his vows, has been averted by the gods. But can he replace Rickon as King in the North or not will depend on your decision. Or should he march south? For the returned Aegon could very well be just a fake, or a Blackfyre pretender. I don’t envy your position my lady. For your decision will determine not just the fate of the North, or of the seven kingdoms, but of the entire humankind I think, considering the danger gathering beyond the wall. But the gods must think you are up to it. They helped you discover this plot to crown Jon Snow before it was too late. They must know that you will choose rightly.” With a final, an almost pitying look, he turned back to his cold food.

The sun was listing to the west when Sansa came out of Lord Reed’s tent. In front of her, the camp stretched till it ended in a wall of stakes. In front of that wall, no man’s land ranged for a few leagues until Winterfell’s grey walls rose from the ground. Sansa ran eyes on them, on the buildings visible beyond, buildings full of happy memories, and of Boltons and Wildlings. On the Bell Tower, where the Direwolf of Starks had flown for thousands of years flew the flayed man of the Boltons. All Sansa had come here was to take it down, and restore her father’s castle to its former glory. But instead, Lord Reed had just handed her the world and said that she must balance it. How? Sansa didn’t know. She wasn’t Robb. Or even Lady Catelyn or Lord Eddard Stark. How was she supposed to decide? Should she take this all to Ser Brynden?

Something brushed her hand. Sansa looked beside her to see ghost watching. She felt as if the wolf was staring right into her soul. She extended a hand and rubbed the beast’s maw…

For a moment, the camp came alive with sudden senses. Sansa could hear the tiniest sound the crickets made, and the smells coming from Lord Reed’s tent and many others. She felt strong, like she hadn’t felt in years.

Startled, she withdrew her hand and stared at the direwolf. Ghost stared back innocently. Sansa knew what had happened. She thought of wargs in Old Nan’s stories, and what had happened in her dream. Had she warged into that raven? She had heard that there were wargs in the army of the wildings. Why had the gods sent Ghost to her? Was this the way of the gods to tell her that Jon _was_ actually an oathbreaker, and to sentence him to die? Could she even do that, kill the boy her father had promised his sister would live? Was this their way to teach _her_ the old arts, like the Three Eyed Raven was teaching Bran? Or was it so… She couldn’t even imagine giving Ghost back to Jon, even though she had been with him only half a day. Why couldn’t the gods choose to let her be happy? They had taken Lady from her, when all her brothers still had their direwolves. She didn’t know about Arya, but maybe Ghost _was_ meant for her.

So absorbed in her thoughts Sansa was, that she didn’t even see Lady Meage come and stand before. She was startled when the Lady Bear spoke to her. She whirled around and asked Lady Meage to repeat herself if she would.

“Why haven’t you told Ser Brynden?” The Lady Bear asked, eying Sansa warily.

Sansa eyed the woman coolly, and surprisingly found that she was no longer angry, “Because my lady,” She said slowly, “I agree with you. This fight between us is no decent man’s way. It is not the northern way.” She shook her head, “Northman must not fight northman.”

The wariness didn’t leave Lady Meage’s eyes, “Then what _have_ you decided? Will you let Lord Snow be the king?”

Sansa looked toward Winterfell, to the banners flying from the bell tower, picturing a dragon banner over there. “I don’t know.” She said finally, “I don’t know. I can’t decide. But thankfully, histories tell us what to do in such situations.” She looked back at Lady Meage, “Go to your daughter, and then to Lord Davos Seaworth. Go tell them that I am calling a Great Council of the North.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I posted this chapter on fanfiction.net, people flipped out. So let me explain just what you read right now.
> 
> What I wanted you to take from the last chapter was that someone was helping Sansa find out about the plot to crown Jon. Which might result in Jon losing his crown, or even his life. Now, finding ghost only gives her motivation to kill Jon, because she can’t take ghost as long as Jon lives. There is added motivation to take ghost, apart from her already wanting a wolf, that it will make her a Stark in the eyes of the northmen, who seem to think of her as southron(what with the vale army and so many betrothals, and even one marriage to a Lannister.)  
> So, the question is, whoever is trying to influence Sansa to claim ghost, are they doing it for the good of the north? Will the north benefit from Jon’s removal, or is it someone else with more sinister intentions. For now, Sansa has called the council. Meage Mormont, we have seen, thinks that anybody who has seen all the cards should see that Jon is the best candidate. But if that happens, will Sansa hold on to the honorable path which might see Rickon dethroned and ghost going back to Jon???


	41. Sam III

Moonlight flashed off the jagged stones of the cliffs. The waters swirled below them, and furious waves slammed into them one after the other, sending up spray against the unyielding rock. From his window, Sam could see the ruins of a castle atop the ridge, standing there against the wind as if they still were protecting something. Sam was very conscious of his maester’s chain, two links on a cord around his neck, and of his black cloths. He should at least throw away his clothing that identified him as a crow. A maester at least would read books for his lord, but no man of the Night’s Watch would ever help someone like Euron Crow’s Eye.

“They call me Crow’s Eye.” The man had laughed, “And now I have a crow who is my eye.”

Sam returned his gaze to the books. The swinging lantern was making it difficult to read. It wasn’t just that the ship was swaying, but the wind was making the flame flicker, even though the window was so small. It must be a storm outside. If we were to smash into the rocks that are poking out just to our right, it won’t matter what all I’ve read.

But they didn’t. It was Euron Greyjoy that had the wheel up on the deck, and his gods never failed him. Almost. “We can’t take Casterley Rock.” Lord Harlaw had snapped at Euron at a council on the Shield Islands. Sam had been afraid for him. Euron Greyjoy was mad, you could never be sure of what he would do. But Lord Harlaw must have been a powerful man, at least on the Iron Islands. “It has never been taken.” He said to his king’s face.

“Yet.” Euron Greyjoy said. “The lions have marched east, to rescue their king. Now is the perfect time for raids. And who are we if not raiders, at the bottom of our hearts?”

“You have already taken the enmity of the reach.” Lord Harlaw warned, “You would do well to leave the Lannisters alone.”

“They took my enmity first. When they forgot my words. We Do Not SOW. BUT TAKE WHAT IS OURS.” His shout was met with a wave of enthusiasm. “I admit,” He spread his hands. “Mistakes were made. I thought I could fight them on land. But I’ve learned from my mistakes. We are back on the sea, back in the Drowned God’s arms. Can you not feel the heaving deck beneath you Reader?” “Yes.” Lord Harlaw said through gritted teeth. “That’s the ocean, welcoming you.” Euron Greyjoy announced, “Welcoming us. We have suffered a defeat, but what is dead may never die, but rise again, stronger and more powerful.” His men began to shout, slamming their cups on the table and shaking their fists, and that was that. They were sailing toward Casterley Rock.

Privately, Euron elaborated to Sam, “The gods never showed me that I would be a victor at Cider Hall. Not the Red God, nor the god of the undying. But this time it’s a different matter. I have seen the lions running as my Silence wrecked their port. I have seen it in the flames. Besides,” He smiled a dreamy smile, “You’ve seen the proof that R’hllor hasn’t forsaken me.” His smile widened, “She was right there. I could reach out and her. The dragon queen. So beautiful. So powerful.” He made a fist, “And all mine.”

The worst thing was that Sam _had_ seen it. From all the beatings he had received, all the threats and the leers, all the things he read for Euron Greyjoy, that was the worst thing. He had witnessed him leading the dothraki woman falsely for weeks, to trick her into showing his brother Victarion the way to the dragon queen. And the last time, he had seen her. Daenerys Targaryen with her silvery hair and her dragons. Sam didn’t know what scared him more, knowing that Daenerys was in debt to Euron for saving her life, or seeing her standing calmly as her dragons burned down a city around her. The savior of the word should be affected more by burning people, shouldn’t they?

Suddenly Sam realized that the ship had stopped moving. It was still slowly swaying to the wind, but it was different. It was on anchor, Sam realized. He looked out of the window. The ruins were still there, atop the cliffs, albeit a little behind them now. “Where are we?” He wondered aloud.

“How should I know?” Snapped a clipped voice behind him. Sam turned. It was the old man chained to the wall. “I am as blind here as you are.” Aeron Greyjoy said, “If not more.”

“I-I-I wasn’t asking.” Sam Stuttered. The skeletal man scared him. He had been moved to Sam’s quarters after he had feinted in his cell down in the lowest levels of the Silence. Was that to be his fate? Half starved, ribs poking out of his chest, and helpless. Completely helpless. It Euron Greyjoy could do this to his own brother, what will he do to me, once I exhaust my purpose? “I was only thinking out loud.” He said.

“He will come tonight boy, I can feel it.” Aeron raised his eyes to Sam’s, his withered face surrounded by white hair, “You hold your tongue. Don’t tell him anything.”

The door to their room opened, and Euron Greyjoy stepped him. “Tonight?” He said, amused, “I am already here, brother.” A man stepped from behind the Greyjoy King and made his way to where Sam was chained to the table. “I see your god is talking to you again.” Euron said to his brother, “What does he say, Damphair?”

The man who had come with Euron, Nico, was unlocking Sam’s fetters. “He tells me that you will bring death and destruction upon the ironborn.” He heard Aeron spit at Euron over the clanking of the irons, “He tells me that you are a vassal of the Storm God, and that you will cost every ironman his life.”

“He couldn’t be more wrong.” Euron smiled a terrible smile, “Or right.” He turned to Sam, “Come Samwell. We are going for a hike.”

“I-I-In-In the n-night?” Sam asked, stopping suddenly while rubbing his own ankles.

“The moon will guide us.” Euron held out his hand, “Come. Don’t tell me the Night’s Watch is afraid of ghosts.”

“G-ghosts?” Sam squaked.

“Where do you think we are?” Euron asked.

Sam looked behind him, out of the window to the ruined tower. “Tarbeck Hall.” He said.

“How long has it been that you’ve seen the sky Samwell?”

It had been too long. Far too long. But that was not why Sam got to his feet. It was because if Euron Greyjoy wanted Sam out there, then he would get him there one way or the other. And Sam didn’t want to climb a mountain limping from the pain of lashes. He didn’t need to draw punishment, that was the first lesson he had learned in this captivity, he could just do what they told him to and they won’t touch him. “Don’t tell him anything boy.” Aeron’s called after them as he left the room with Euron, “Don’t tell him anything of what you’ve read.”

Sam kept his head down on the trip. It was midnight by the time Sam and Euron reached the ruins of what had once been The Tarbeck Hall of the Tarbecks. They hadn’t had to climb the cliff like Sam had feared, thank the gods. Instead, Euron had them rowed to the little watchtower that guarded the natural port beside the mountain. The watchtower was unmanned, probably since the fall of the Tarbecks. From there, they took a dirt path that was almost hidden beneath the overgrown weeds, walking through the night in a line with Euron walking in the front. He had taken only two guards with him, the rest in the party were only Sam, and Pate who was silently bringing the rear.

Atop the cliff, the grass and the trees gave way to ruined castle. There was no gate beyond the dug in moat, not that it would have stopped Euron. The fallen towers and the shattered walls stood silent in the moonlight, as if in a vigil of death. Sam looked around at them, shuddering. ‘ _And now the rains weep o’er his halls_ ’ Euron sang as he walked among the ruins, ‘a _nd not a soul to hear.’_ Only it wasn’t rain here tonight. It was the wind. The unopposed wind of the coast howled as it attacked the ruined castle, and seemed to blow right through Sam. It couldn’t have been colder than what Sam had encountered north of the wall, but it felt worse. Why had Euron Greyjoy brought them here? They could have gotten on with Sam’s summary in the ship like they always did. While Sam was glad to feel the clear cold air in this nostrils, he didn’t like this trip to this fallen castle one bit. Every shadow made him think of what Euron had said about ghosts. Sam was a craven, true, but he wasn’t afraid of ghosts. He knew too well that ghosts didn’t exist. What did exist though, were monsters. And around Euron Greyjoy, you were better off if you feared the monsters.

Euron seated himself on the lip of a fallen well. “Tywin Lannister did this.” He gestured around himself. “And it was only the start. Castamere followed, then Duskendale, even the north. Winterfell, the pride of the Starks.” He mused, “And then he died on the privy. Your god has mysterious ways, Pate.” He said to the man who had once been Sam’s friend.

“Not so.” Pate held Euron’s gaze, “It is man’s dreams that are strange. Strange and overreaching.”

Sam still hadn’t figured out what the relationship between these two men was. It felt eerily like his own relationship with Euron Greyjoy, that of a lord and a prisoner. But that couldn’t be correct. While Euron treated Sam far better than Sam would have thought from everything he had heard of the man, Sam sensed that it was only because the excitement of the war sated Euron’s desires. His treatment of Pate was similar to Sam’s. But where Euron wouldn’t hesitate to whip, or do worse, to Sam, Sam had never even seen the man do so much as shout at Pate. But then again, Pate carried himself in a way that never gave Euron any reason, except for a comment here and there. It were these comments that made Sam think that Pate wasn’t entirely a happy camper in this campaign. But Sam was too much of a coward to see if he could turn Pate against Euron.

Once the king had had his fill of looking around the ruined castle, he made Sam sit on the ground before him. “What do you have for me tonight, Samwell of the Night’s Watch?”

The mention of the Night’s Watch almost made Sam cry. He heard Aeron Damphair’s voice in his head, _Don’t tell him anything._ But Sam knew he wasn’t strong enough to do that. He had tried that at first. It had been through a candle. Euron Greyjoy had been in the Reach, but he had needed Sam to read the book Death of Dragons that he had had Pate steal from the Citadel and summarize it to him through that accursed black candle. Sam had refused, and in return Igor Volmark had bound Sam to a rack for an entire day, even though Sam had broken after only five minutes. Sam had spent the next day a sobbing wreck, but he started reading the books they gave him. And such books they were. Barth’s Unnatural History was one of them. Many were books that Sam had already read, or heard of. But more were such which had been thought of as lost for eternity. Others were whose name Sam hadn’t even heard till now. Against the Unnatural by Maester Vanyon, the entire copy of Signs and Portents, which was a book listed in the Book of Lost Books. The Winterlands and The Starks, the complete scrolls of The Fires of The Freehold, Songs of the Children, The History of Dragons.. These rare books were the ones Euron Greyjoy had collected on his travels of the world. Sam suspected that some had come from Asshai, or even Valyria itself, like Euron Greyjoy’s armor.

It wasn’t enough for Euron Greyjoy to chase dragons, or chain up priests, even his own brother, in a dungeon till he decided to sacrifice them. He wanted to master the higher mysteries. The arts and spells that the maesters nowadays scoffed at, but were explained at length in some of these books. “Old powers are waking.” He had said to Sam on the first time he had had Sam recite what he had read, “And the new ones are afraid. I want to know what each side can do. And also what I can do.”

The Ironborn King had orchestrated the attack on Oldtown from the help of these books, Sam had come to realize. In _Unnatural History_ , Barth discussed of the mystery surrounding the origins of the Hightower, and whence the name Battle Isle, the name of the isle on which The Hightower stood, had come from. No maester knew what battle had been fought here, as the origins of the name were lost to history, or who had built the black fortress on the island which now served as the lowest foundations of the tower. The fortress, in looks, resembled the construction of the Valyrians, who had perfected the art of molding the stone in unbroken, smooth and strong sections by fire and spells. But the unadorned style of the construction, utterly unlike that of Valyrian builders, who preferred lavish, ornate and fanciful shapes, spoke against this assumption. Also the fact that the building of the fortress had to predate even the coming of the Andals by thousands of years raised the question what the dragonlords were doing in Westeros at that time.

Barth argued that it were indeed the first of the Valyrians that created that smooth, fused stonework. But what interested Sam, and indeed, Euron, more, was the claim by Barth that the place still held traces of the magic that was once performed here. _Why else,_ He asked, _is Oldtown one of the most prosperous cities of Westeros? Why is the citadel, a place that helps man reach the highest he can from his baser form, at Oldtown? It is only eclipsed by King’s Landing, where stands the Iron Throne, uniting the Seven Kingdoms into one._ Barth said that we have forgotten the tools we would need to test this, but, he said, any spell performed here, any ritual, will hold more power than if done anywhere else. In his book, he spoke of places of magic, hinges of the world.

Maesters nowadays took Barth’s claims with a grain of salt. But these were the same Maesters that sometimes questioned the existence of the Others, or indeed, whether they had ever existed at all. So Sam was more willing to believe Barth’s writing, and others which agreed with at least some of the things that Sam had seen north of the wall. And so was Euron Greyjoy, for some reason. And he had profited from that. With whatever spells from his captive priests, and by poisoning the food train of Ser Gunthor’s army with Basilisk Blood, he had turned the entire army insane and compelled them to attack their own people. It brought tears to Sam’s eyes to think that he would be helping the Iron King in his next such exploit.

One such place that interested Euron was the Wall itself. And it was the book _The Depth of the Wall_ by a Valyrian explorer named Vulkan that Sam had finished reading tonight. “You know what I want to hear.” Euron said as he closed his eyes. “Not irrelevant stuff that might interest a maester, but the mysteries and the arts. And history.” He always closed his eyes as Sam summarized what he had read recently, as if memorizing it all right then and there.

At first, Sam had thought that he could get away with lying about what he had read. The idea had come to him on day he summarized a book for the first time ever to King Euron. For the next time, he prepared a false story in his head, a compilation of myths and legends he had read as a child, and he recited it in his head till he was sure he won’t falter anywhere. With all the confidence that a craven could muster, he had begun to feed the story to Euron Greyjoy the next day. But Pate had caught him.

That was why Pate was present. To make sure Sam didn’t lie about what he read. Any falsehood Sam would utter, Pate would catch. There was no escaping his sharp eye. Sam’s courage had already been hair thin, and it broke very easily. King Euron showed considerable restrain however, considering that he had just returned from the Reach defeated. He took Sam to the room where he had hung his brother, the Damphair, along with the other priests. Sam had been in this company in his earliest, and his worst, days in the care of Igor Volmark, before he had been given a cell with a lantern so he could read. It made his skin crawl to go back in that room, and when Euron made him look at the man he called Pyat Pree, he vomited his fear onto the man. The man had no hands. “Is this what you want to become?” Euron asked Sam as he forced Sam’s face to touch that of the weeping man’s. “I can have one of my men turn the pages for you. You only need eyes to read, and a tongue to convey it all to me. Everything else is redundant.”

And so Sam conveyed, conveyed all that he read, all that he guessed Euron might want to hear. Pate was always present, as he was tonight, to see if Sam was holding anything back. It made him sick to his stomach, telling Euron the forbidden rituals in the book The Death of Dragons, telling him of accounts that still remained of the Children of the Forest breaking the land that had once connected Dorne to Essos, describing to him the magic of the Valyrians and the arts of the greenseers. But he told him all, all the while imagining what Maester Aemon or Jon would say if they saw him like this. Especially tonight.

“This book talks more about the origins of the wall than its properties.” Sam told his audience, namely Pate and Euron, the guards having wandered off. “Vulkan was one of the very few Valyrian explorers who ventured so far north and so far west. He had heard of the wall of Westeros, and he wanted to see it with his own eyes. This was before the coming of the Andals, and First Men were still writing runes in those times, so this might even be the first account of the wall on paper.”

“The first few chapters talk about the Wall and the Night’s Watch as it was in that day.” It had been fascinating for Sam, but Euron showed his impatience by frowning and waving his hand to tell Sam to skip that part, “The further chapters talk about the origins of the wall, and its contradictions.” The book said had said many things that Sam had never read anywhere else. It spoke about the tales of Children of the Forest visiting the Wall. The surprising thing was the similarity Vulkan drew between the Children and a folk that his own histories said could control animals, an ability he claimed later helped his own ancestors tame the dragons. “It might prove Barth’s claim,” Sam concluded for Euron, afraid of Pate’s eye, “That the Valyrians did indeed visit Westeros when the Children of the Forest still lived alongside the Fist Men.” One other thing the book detailed was the manner in which Brandon the Builder had gotten the Children of the Forest to help him build the wall. “He says that Brandon called upon the Children to repay the debt they owed, to right their wrong.” Vulkan never knew what wrong Brandon might have been referring to, but he did ask why it was only when the Last Hero went to seek the Children of the Forest that they agreed to help him in the war against The Others. Why weren’t they already helping? Wasn’t the coming of the Long Night harming them as well? The men of the Night’s Watch had refused to answer his questions in this regard.

By the time Sam finished repeating all he remembered, only an hour remained to the dawn. The moon was peeking through the clouds, which had swallowed it only a while ago. After Sam finished, he grabbed the wineskin offered by Pate, and took a long draught to ease the itch in his throat. Euron Greyjoy sat still with his eyes closed. Just when Sam began to think that the King had fallen asleep, he spoke, “Vulkan’s ancestors knew the Children. They taught them to control animals, and many other things besides. Tell me Samwell, what other things?”

“D-Dragons?” Sam said uncertainly.

“He claims they developed that themselves.” Euron said impatiently, “What did the greenseers do, Sam? What did the greenseers did that you now can do with glass candles, and the red priests do with their fires?”

“Look at the morrows.” Sam realized. Euron had had Sam doing that as well, staring at candles. It scared Sam, all the powers Euron Greyjoy was collecting, even after his defeat in the Reach, and knowledge he gained because of them. He even knew about Jon wielding a burning sword. Sam had himself told him this, after another long lashing due to Pate.

“See things happening at great distances,” Euron said, eyes still closed as if he also was just thinking out loud, “speak to each other at great distances, and look at the morrow.” He paused for a moment, “Barth said that the Valyrians came to Oldtown because of a prophecy, a prophecy that man’s doom will come from the land beyond the narrow sea. I say it wasn’t that. If it were only that, they wouldn’t have returned. I say that they found the prophecy here, maybe the first prophecy they saw after they learned the art from the Greenseers. I say it was the doom of Valyrians that they saw at Oldtown, and that that’s what caused them to turn back.”

“The Doom came to Valyria on its own.” Sam said uncertainly.

“Not to the Valyrians though.” Euron finally opened his eyes. “There are some still out there, maybe only one, or maybe two, of an unbroken descent. What do you think is their doom?”

“Y-you?” Sam asked, afraid again.

Euron laughed, “Me? Doom? No, at least not hers. I mean to be her savior Sam. Haven’t I proved so already when I saved her from the Dothraki? You think that she is going to save the world from the horror coming from the north. If I were her doom, why would the gods be helping me?”

“They _were_ helping you.” Sam said before he could stop himself, “Before. They needed you to save her. Maybe they are now leading you to a trap at Casterley Rock. Even if you take the castle and the city, Paxter Redwyn and my father will arrive there mere days after you.”

He wanted to smack himself even before he stopped speaking. The images of Pyat Pree hand his severed limbs flashed before his eyes. To his chagrin, Euron smiled. “You are wrong.” He said. He went to one of the dozing guards and took his bow from him, along with an arrow. For a moment Sam thought this was his punishment for speaking such a thing to the King. But Euron raised the bow to the sky.

In the moonlight Sam saw a dark shape come flying from the south. The arrow only made a small whistling sound, but the raven screamed shrilly as it went down. Sam gasped, both in horror at the bird being shot, and in relief that it wasn’t him that that the arrow was buried in.

The guards went bring the fallen raven to Euron, both wearing the expression of astonishment at the fact that their king knew the raven would fly above this place, and right after Sam would have ended his sermon. The tale would be spread over the entire fleet by the evening of the next day, Sam knew, this trip of theirs, and whatever news that the letter contained. And it will only silence lords like Rodrik Harlaw who were against this mad campaign of Euron Greyjoy. It had to be good news for Euron in that letter, Sam thought, why else would he come all the way here to receive it.

When the guards gave the letter the raven was carrying to Euron, he handed it to Sam. “Read it aloud Samwell.” He paused to chuckled, “Read it and Weep.”

Tears _did_ form in Sam’s eyes when he saw the mark the letter’s seal bore. He broke the seal with shaking hands, and began reading with a lump in his throat. “T-To Ser Damion Lannister, Castellan of Casterley Rock. The dornishmen have descended from the Prince’s Pass, with Gerold ‘Darkstar’ Dayne of High Hermitage leading them. It has fallen upon me to defend our lands. The Ironmen have f-fled from the Shields, but they could make way to your lands. Stay vigilant. L-L-Lord R-R-R-Randyl Tarl-ly, of Horn Hill.”

“Obara had captured him, Darkstar.” Euron said, snatching the letter from Sam’s fingers. “But I freed him when I returned to the Shields, and told him that in order to gain a pardon from Sunspear, he must help Aegon.”

“H-Help Aegon?” Sam asked. “But you tried to kill him?”

“And I failed. The way the matters stand now, it is more profitable for me if he lived. Captive as he is now, he is just a liability to his Lord Hand. You see Sam,” Euron took Sam by the shoulders like they were old friends and started tracing their steps back to the Silence, “With Tarly occupied in the south, when I take Casterley Rock, Daven Lannister will have to turn his foot around.” Sam didn’t know who Daven Lannister was or where he was headed, but he could guess. “That will keep the battles at King’s Landing from tilting in favor of the Lannisters. They will keep bleeding each other out, while I get back my strength and plan my next move.”

Sam was silent. But Euron sensed he wanted to say something. “Go on,” He said, “Spit it out. Don’t be afraid. I won’t punish you. Have I ever punished you unfairly?”

“You think you can take Casteley Rock.” Sam made himself say, reminding himself that he himself might die if Euron Greyjoy’s plan fails. “But if that’s true, so could Daven Lannister, from you, after he comes back.”

“But that’s the thing Sam,” Euron patted Sam’s back, smiling, “Casterley Rock can’t be taken, except by those who have god on their side.”

They reached the city of Lannisport the day after next. Euron made his fleet, the fifty strongest warships he had kept with himself, others had started raiding the coast of the Westerlands days ago, paint their sails in the colors of the Redwyn fleet in the day between. On the day of the attack, he came to Sam’s room to retrieve his brother. “Come Aeron, come watch me punish the lions for making you suffer in their cells.” He said to him as his men dragged him above deck.

Sam spent the battle in the cell alone, with his window shut. He wished he was anywhere else but here. Every sound from outside made him almost cry, and sometimes he did cry, when it was clear someone was dying close by. He wished he was at Castle Black, with his friends, Jon and Pyp and Toad and Grenn. He wished he at least wasn’t chained to the chair, so he could at least hide below the bench. Not that that would do any good. If anyone came through that door bearing the wrong sigil, Sam was as good as dead. But maybe they would take pity on a captive from the Night’s Watch. But if the Silence sank however…

But it didn’t sink. Sam could hear other ships sinking nearby, but Silence itself floated through the battle. At one time, it slammed into something, and the wood around Sam groaned so loudly he slammed his hands over his ears. The shouts of “Hear me roar” scared him, for it meant that the Lannisters were were close.

But when the doors opened, it was only Aeron Greyjoy that was shoved through the door. Euron’s guards threw him across the room. Sam instinctively rose up to help him, but was reminded of the chains around his ankles by a rude yank. He sat back and watched the old man struggle to his feet. To his astonishment, Aeron Greyjoy was laughing.

“What’s happened?” Sam asked, “Did Euron lose?”

“No.” Aeron said, “But my wretch of a brother found out that the gods may not be on his side alone.”

“Casteley Rock didn’t fall?”

“Oh, it did fall, just not to the Crow’s Eye.” Broken teeth showed though Aeron’s grin, “He had t He had to be content with Lannisport alone. He knows he can’t hold it when the Lions return to take it back.”

“What about the castle then?”

Aeron’s smile soured, “Look for yourself.” He said.

Sam tore open the shutters on the window by the table. Silence was still at the sea, away from the port of Lannisport where Sam could see the rest of the Ironborn ships. The Silence seemed way to join them. But Sam could see other ships in the jetty of the castle of Casteley Rock, safe in a cave-like opening in the mountain that held the castle. The ships bore the mark of the Lannisters, but when Sam looked upward, toward a tower carved out of a white cliff of the mountain, he saw them unfurling new banners instead of the Lion of Lannisters. The new banners were tattered and dirty, as if they were taken in a battle. But Sam recognized the leaping silver Trout of the Tullys. And above it, the grey direwolf of the Starks.


	42. Sansa V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I think I made a mistake and posted the same chapter twice in the same chapter when I posted the last Sansa chapter(I just found out today). That might have made you miss the chapter notes I had written. I would recommend you go and read them(They are at the end of the previous Sansa chapter) though it is okay if you don't. Some of you already don't need to, I saw from the comments.

On the first day of the council, Sansa read out Robb’s will to the assembled lords and ladies.

Before this day, only a few people had known about the will. Lord Galbart Glover and Lady Meage Mormont, Lord Manderley and Reed, the Greatjon and somehow Stannis’s hand Lord Davos. And Roose Bolton as well. Everybody else was hearing it for the first time ever.

And they didn’t like what they were hearing, Sansa saw with shameful relief filling her. “Nobody gives up the black cloak.” Brandon Tallheart exclaimed. “He let the wildings through the wall.” Harwood Stout shouted, and the chaos began.

“What if Queen Jeyne had birthed a son?” The fat Lord Manderley demanded of the Greatjon, “Would you still seat a black bastard on the throne?” “You are crazier than Selyse if you think we’ll believe R’hllor brought back Jon Snow from the dead.” Ser Merlon Wells told Lord Davos. “He is the Red God’s demon.” Lady Lyessa Flint accused them. Her name, and of all others that she didn’t know, had been whispered in Sansa’s ear by Hallis Mollen when she entered the tent. “He led the wildlings to Winterfell’s doorsteps.” Lady Jonelle, whom Sansa already knew, called over the tumult. Shouts of King Rickon could also be heard from time to time. Jon’s supporters were reeling under the barrage of accusations of treason, and of being completely off their rocker.

But something happened in the middle. Lord Wull got to his feet and began accusing Lady Meage of deceit and dishonor. “Your daughter was going to use Stannis to win Winterfell for Snow, and then you were going to discard him like a used glove. The man who liberated Deepwood from the Ironmen, you were going to stab him in the back.” He accused. “I served the Young Wolf.” Lady Meage answered, “Stannis meant nothing to me. I had to keep my plans secret for fear of him finding out.” “Stannis has been dead for a while my lady.” Lord Wull said, “And yet your daughter saw fit to keep the truth to herself, instead squirreling Snow away from the battlefield. I can only imagine why.”

Lady Meage flushed at his accusations, but he didn’t let her answer, probably knowing she didn’t have one. “And now you are spreading tales about this brave girl.” He pointed one fat finger toward Sansa, “About how she brought a southron army into the north. Just a week ago, your daughter was telling us how the south was evil, and last night, in the cover of darkness like a thief, she took half our camp over to join those very southerners, along with our hostages and Jon Snow. Is your sigil a bear or a chameleon? You have been calling her a Lannister, speaking about how she has become southron after spending more than a year in King’s Landing. Yet she seems more northern to me than you. She’s avenged her brother, and your daughter as well. She obviously found out about your plans. She could have charged you with treason and mounted your head on the gates of Winterfell, I would have done so, but instead she called this council for she knew she couldn’t judge between her two brothers herself. My lords,” He looked around at the assembled lords, “if this doesn’t make you see her as the daughter of Eddard Stark, I don’t know what will.”

He had expected cheers, but the pavilion was silent. Sansa’s heart sank. Till now, they were denouncing the injustice that was being done to her and her brother. But now they were looking at each other with dismay. “They will think you weak.” Ser Brynden had said to her, when he had found out that she had called a council to determine the succession of Robb’s throne, “They will say you gave up the advantage your brother had in surprise if it meant no bloodshed will follow. Even if you win Rickon the throne after this, you will have Roose Bolton’s cropping up in every castle, looking to undermine you, thinking you have milk in your veins.” Lord Wull, called The Wull in the hills of his home, had meant well, but he had just done most damage anyone could do to Rickon’s case.

Lord Glover seized upon the indecision in the tent then. “We have nothing against Lady Sansa, nor against Prince Rickon.” He said earnestly, “But he is a boy of six. Will he lead our armies when the dragon comes knocking?” He left the other question unspoken, _will lady Sansa sit down to talk with them as well?_ “We need a strong king in such times my lords. A strong king to defend our lands, to defend and restore the North to its former glory. Jon Snow is the man for this job. The man that will win Riverrun back and restore his brother’s kingdom.”

The last comment was meant for Ser Brynden’s benefit, Sansa was sure. “He opened the gate.” Harwood Stout cried again, but this time Lord Davos stepped forward to answer him, “King Stannis did that.” He said in a voice as grave as the expressions on his face, “He defeated Mance Rayder. He held the gate. Snow had no say in it.” The black brothers he had brought with him, Ser Alliser Thorne and Kedge Whiteye, confirmed this, thus absolving Jon of the crime. Stout began shaking with anger and told Lord Davos something that made Sansa’s ears hot. The shouting resumed after that.

When Sansa emerged from the pavilion after some five hours, she was exhausted. How could I be exhausted just by sitting? She wondered. She hadn’t even talked much. There hadn’t been that many chances. After the fiasco with the Wull, the council had derailed. Much of the time, the lords were shouting about matters that had little or no relevance to the matter at hand. Maester Amos had warned Sansa of this. “The first day of any council, the lords rarely know what they are going to say. So they shout instead, about anything that comes to mind. Every man has a right to speak, and they want to exercise that right. The first day, or even two, of a council are nothing but accusations and blame game.” And so it had been. The council had come to resemble a group of children squabbling, remembering every little thing, every little wrong that had been done to them. From how many Dustin men died at Oxcross to who led the scouts for Lady Meage when she returned from the westernlands leading the cattle she had found, no topic seemed to be off limits. Hallis Mollen insisted that since Robett Glover had caused the disaster of Duskendale, he shouldn’t be allowed on the council, while Robett and Galbart Glover tried to pin that defeat on Roose Bolton. The Norrey suddenly started to bang his wine goblet on the table demanding that all the southron swords be evicted from the council, till he realized no one was listening to him. Sansa let all of it wash over her, listening to it all, worried what will be said when the real discussion started.

Outside the pavilion, the Maester started to say something to her, but she stopped him. Ser Brynden had just come out of the pavilion. “Wait for me in my tent.” She said to Maester Amos and made her way to Ser Brynden and the Wull. “I didn’t think you would come.” She said when she approached them.

Ser Brynden took one look at her and turned back to Big Bucket Wull. “You can raise your tents on the west side, bring your men as soon as you can. We must be ready for these traitors.” Lord Wull nodded, to him and then to Sansa, “Don’t worry my lady, you’ll have your castle in no time.” He said, before walking off.

“That’s why I came.” Ser Brynden said as he watched the camps in the distance. “To salvage the damage you have done.” He looked back at Sansa. “At least one of us needs to do what Robb would have wanted us to do.” He also walked off, leaving her stricken, even though she had been expecting it.

Ser Brynden was against this council. Against every aspect of it. He felt that Sansa had given a stage for this rebellion to spread on when she could have easily curbed it. He was also angry that Sansa had gone behind his back to send out the invitations, and had had Ser Lyn even begin to erect a tent in no man’s land. “I will have no authority left anymore,” He told her, “Not after you have gone behind my back. It will be you ruling as Rickon’s regent, if he even gets the throne that is. And gods help you if you cannot curb the hard northmen.” When he’d found out that she’d invited Roose Bolton to the council, he had stared at her as if she had sprouted a second head.

Briefly, Sansa wondered why she wasn’t angry with him for not making a greater effort to rescue Lady Catelyn. But she knew why he was ready to sacrifice his niece. Ser Brynden would have pardoned Lord Bolton, even if it meant letting Robb’s killer go free. But Lord Bolton’s pardon wouldn’t sit well with the lords of the north. Add to this what Ser Brynden had heard about her niece’s appearance… Sansa remembered what Lady Meage had said in her raven dream, how the lords would compete with each other to desert Rickon if Lady Catelyn were his regent. Ser Brynden knew this as well. That was why he had been willing to attack Winterfell without any negotiation. He wasn’t going to take any chances with Robb’s kingdom. Sansa couldn’t find a fault in that.

If I can accept his reasoning and not hate him, why can’t he accept mine and still love me? Sansa wasn’t strong enough to let her mother die like this. “She is still the woman you knew.” Hallis Mollen had insisted to her. He had accompanied her in the wolfswood, but had evaded capture from Lord Bolton. When Sansa had met him, he’d sworn his sword to her. “She cried when she heard how you killed all the Freys.” He told her, “When Theon told us how Rickon and Bran were still alive, she was so happy. No matter how she looks, she is still your mother.” Sansa had called this council for justice. Justice for Jon, for Rickon. Even justice for Robb. But what about justice for her mother? Lady Catelyn hadn’t done anything to deserve dying in a cold cell at the hands of Roose Bolton’s gaoler.

Sansa returned to her tent to find the Maester waiting for her outside in the snow. The snows had started falling about a week ago, some said right after the fires had been stopped in the west. “Why are you standing outside?” She asked the Maester, brushing snow from her own hair.

The Maester gave her an embarrassed smile, “Your wolf doesn’t like me.” He said. Sansa frowned and drew him in. Inside, Ghost was lying at the foot of her matrasses. He raised his head and bared his teeth at the sight of the Maester. “Down, Ghost.” Sansa said to him, but instead of settling down, the wolf got up and ran out of the open tent flap.

With the direwolf gone, the tent suddenly seemed too big and empty. Frowning, Sansa bade the Maester sit. “He will come back when he will,” She said, “I am exhausted. I want to have my supper and go to sleep.”

“Best set up a table for two then, if it pleases my lady.” The Maester said bowing, and smiling slightly, “I have things to discuss with you.”

Sansa frowned again. She didn’t trust Maester Amos. He was too eager to help her. Sansa was sure he had some ulterior motive, even if she didn’t know what, yet. He had his uses, she had to admit. It had been him that had helped her write the letters to Jon, he had insisted on it. “Write gentle words, make him think you care for him. There is nothing to lose if he thinks you care for him, and everything to lose if he thinks otherwise. He is a bastard with an army.” Sansa had reddened at his assumption that she didn’t care for Jon, but she followed his advice anyway, especially of asking Jon not to lead the attack on Winterfell. “We don’t need the bastard to win any glory”. But not knowing why he was helping her made her wary? Petyr Baelish had told her that everybody was either a player or a pawn in the game of thrones, and it was clear to her that the Maester thought of himself as a player, and he was trying to make Sansa his piece. Sansa didn’t mean to get used however, “Discuss what?” She asked him guardedly.

“The War of The Five Kings.” The Maester said. “Today there were many accusations hurled across the tables, and some of them were even true. I for one believe that Roose Bolton was personally responsible for Robett Glover’s defeat at Duskendale.”

“So what?” Sansa asked irritably, “It’s in the past. It has no bearing on whether Jon should follow Robb to the throne or should Rickon.”

“But you’ve invited Roose Bolton to the council. What happens when someone else throws this in your face? It will be worse if you are completely ignorant about this. You are a girl of four and ten, in your own words, you have no business of being on a council.” Sansa had said this to him when he had been pressuring her to attend Ser Brynden’s council sessions after leaving Moat Cailin. “If you want your voice to be heard, you had better know truth from lies. Do you know how Winterfell fell? Do you know what transpired at White Harbor when Davos Seaworth was captured there, what promises were made? Do you know why the Wildlings were allowed to pass through the wall? Do you know why Robb Stark went to the Westernlands, why he married that Westerling girl? It wasn’t for love, and you will look like a fool in the council if you believe otherwise. Remember how what you knew of your father’s intentions toward Stannis changed the course of the council at the Twins? Knowledge is power. You need to know more than any other person in the room, always.”

Nothing to lose from listening to him, Sansa told herself, and maybe everything if she didn’t. Gods knew it wasn’t the Blackfish helping her host this council. Sansa told her servants to set up a table for two.

The second day of the council was better than the last. At least regarding the issue at hand, if not for Sansa. Accusations were still hurled across the tables, but more relevant accusations than were made yesterday. Brandon Tallheart accused Lord Davos of stealing their prince, and the Greatjon answered that no one had stolen anyone, “Expect for the Ironmen when they stole Torrhen’s Square and imprisoned you. You couldn’t save Prince Rickon in his hour of need. Lord Davos rescued Prince Rickon when you were still bowing to the Cleftjaw.” He said.

Roose Bolton recited the lies that Sansa knew he had once before told to Lady Alysanne. “He will tell them once again, you can be sure.” Maester Amos had told her yesterday only, “Not because he thinks anyone will believe him, but to give you an excuse to water down his treasons and make a deal with him for Lady Catelyn.” Sansa listened with a clenched jaw to him telling the northern lords how he had had no choice but to take the deal offered to him by Tywin Lannister and Walder Frey or watch the North bleed further. When Lady Meage congratulated him on being able to distort even his lies, when people often have trouble distorting the truth, he reminded her of how she was the one doing this. “You know full well that King Robb only made Jon Snow his heir so the Imp won’t get the throne of the North through Lady Sansa. There is no chance of that happening anymore, yet you are still acting like your moon’s blood is upon you.” He was shouted down to his chair by the angry northmen, but not before he gave Sansa a look, a look full of promises.

They talked about the Wildlings invading the north. Jon had been absolved of the crime of letting them pass through the gate at the wall, but people still remembered that he led them further into the north, right to the doorsteps of Winterfell. “He needed an army to oppose the Bastard of Boltons.” Lady Jonelle answered. I’ve lost her to Jon’s camp, Sansa thought. Jonelle Cerwyn had sat with Sansa yesterday, and helped Hallis identify the various northmen for her, but she had left with Lady Meage at the end of the first day, beside whom she was now sitting. “He needed an army to press his claim upon you, you mean.” Mychel Redfort answered her snidely, “For even in his mind, he knew he was deserting and could hope for no support from the lawful northern lords.”

Lady Jonelle colored at those words, but Lord Davos stepped forward before she could retort. “He didn’t desert. Some of his brother’s stopped him before he could march. They killed him. That makes his…”

His words were drowned by scoffs and protests. “Not that shit in my ears again.” Wallace Belmore said, sticking a finger in his ear and pretending to clean it. “That’s what happens when you make a smuggler your Hand.” Brandon Tallheart said, “I’d have thought Stannis would have more brain.” “If he is dead, why are we having this council?” someone asked.

Lord Galbart stood up. “How can you question this, after you’ve seen Lady Catelyn?” He turned to Lord Manderley, “You’ve seen her,” he pointed to the Tallhearts, “You’ve seen her as well. Jon Snow doesn’t look like her, but if you’d see the scars that he does have, you’d be in no doubt that he’d died from them.”

“The gods have chosen him.” Lord Davos said thickly, in a tone of a man convinced of his righteousness. “That is why they brought him back. He is the Azor Ahai, that’s why they gave him the burning sword. Melisandre said…”

But taking the Red Woman’s name was a mistake. The chiefs of the Mountain clans stood up as one and attacked him, verbally only for now, though The Norrey looked like his hands were aching for a mace. “Shove the Red Witch up your ass.” He said to the smuggler Hand. “Who’s Azor Ahai?” asked the Liddle, “I’ve never heard of this man. We don’t want your demons. Take them and go home.” “We don’t want another Stannis, nor a burning sword. We can do with torches just fine.” Said some hoary old man whose name Sansa had forgotten. “I refuse to listen to your southron lies.” Wull said shaking a finger in the smuggler’s face, “If not for her ladyship, I’d stick you like a pig and make feed you to your cannibal friends. You have no place here. Go back south while you still can and find a home under the Dragon’s wings.”

Lord Davos didn’t flinch under the barrage of accusations and threats hurled at him, though Sansa’s heart was thumping in her chest at the possibility of a fight breaking out. “Northmen aren’t much for talking.” Maester Amos had told her. Lord Davos either didn’t know this however, or didn’t care. “Is this how the north repays Stannis?” He demanded of his accusers, “He defended your wall, while you were all busy playing the game of thrones in the south. He alone answered the call, and now you will send his daughter to the people who would gladly kill her?”

“It is the repayment for your lies.” Ser Brynden said coldly. “Your witch burned the wolfswood. You’ve repaid the kindness Lord Wyman showed you by stealing his lord. You say Stannis defended the Wall, then why are there wildlings in Wintefell? Answer me this smuggler.”

“There are about two thousand wildlings in Wintefell, and they reached there with the help of Roose Bolton.” Replied the Onion knight, “Whom incidentally, you’ve asked to come to council. If it hadn’t been for Stannis, instead of having these two thousand wildlings, you would have twenty thousand running amok through the north.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take a smuggler’s word for it.” Ser Brynden stood up and looked to the Greatjon, “Wildings, and southerners, witches and giants.” He sighed, “I remember when we raised Robb to king. You were the first to rise from your seat, first to call him the King in the North. The first to lay your sword at his feet. You asked why Renly or Stannis or some Tyrell rule over you and yours? What do they know of the wall, you asked, I still remember, what do they know of the wolfswood? And yet now when your wolfswood is more than half burned, and thousands of Wildlings are penned up not a week’s ride from Last Hearth, you make an alliance with a Stormlord, and for what? So he could get a man, the man who let the wildlings cross the wall, don’t forget, win the throne for his queen? You’d make a deserter bastard who sleeps with Wildlings your king on the word of a smuggler?”

The Greajon’s face was stone, “Better a Snow than a dragon.” He said stubbornly, “At least Snow is of the north. About him being a deserter…” He visibly fished for something to say, but failed, “Well, all I can say about that is that it was my King’s wish.” He also stood up, to match the Blackfish’s height, “But what is certain is that I won’t bend the knee to a dragon.” He pointed a finger at Ser Bryenden accusingly, “You’ll have me take a Targaryen king.”

“Not so.” The Blackfish declared. “Aegon Targaryen has refused our offer to end the war, as if that still stood. He will have no marriage offers from us, though Harry even tried to offer him Sansa’s hand,” Sansa started. She hadn’t known this, in none of his letter to her had Harry mentioned this. He’d told her that Aegon meant to marry his aunt, the Queen Daenerys of Meeren who had hatched three dragons. She’d always assumed that Harry wanted to marry her himself. Why would he offer her to Aegon? She tried not to be hurt by this. “But Aegon won’t let her escape her marriage with the Imp it seems.” Ser Brynden continued, “The dragon seems to have a certain liking to him. But even that’s probably unimportant, seeing as the he’s been captured by the lions.”

The Greatjon narrowed his eyes, “At the Twins, you said Robb’s crowning was a mistake.”

“Sansa said that.” Ser Brynden said, making Sansa wince. He’s turned fully against me, she thought, he’s trying to lower me in the eyes of the northmen so that he can have his authority back. She felt the Maester nudging her, but she continued to listen to her Great Uncle, “At that time, Selyse held our king, and so I took the excuse that Sansa offered, that Ned Stark wanted Stannis to become king, so that I could save Catelyn’s son…”

By this time, the Maester was practically shaking Sansa, so she looked at him. “Get up.” He said urgently. “Defend yourself. You can’t let him talk about you like that.”

Defend myself? How? Everything Ser Brynden was saying was true. “…but now Rickon is mostly in northern hands now.” He was saying, “In your hands. I don’t see any need for a southron king. We can have our kingdom of the north back.”

“No.” Sansa blurted out.

The pavilion fell silent. Sansa’s face reddened as they all turned to look at her, pausing the wine goblets going to their mouths. You’ve done it now Sansa, she found herself thinking absurdly, you’ve screamed at the archer who was looking away.

“What do you mean, no?” Ser Brynden asked in a warning tone.

Unwillingly, Sansa got to her feet, helped along by the Maester. “King’s Landing won’t stomach a Kingdom of the North . The war will go on.”

“It won’t.” Ser Brynden answered. “I’ve written to Harry and told him to stay away from King’s Landing for the nonce. Let the Griffin and the Lion fight it out. Then he will attack whatever remains of them, and leave our enemies so weak that they won’t even think of taking up a sword again.”

“Until they do.” Sansa said, her voice growing stronger. She looked at only Ser Brynden, trying to forget just how many people were looking at her. “Be it one year, or two. Lion or Dragon doesn’t matter. As long as the Iron Throne stands to remind the people that the realm used to be one, the king sitting upon it will want to make it so again. They will march north as soon as they get their strength back.”

“Fear not, princess.” Greatjon Umber said in a boastful voice, “If the dragon dares to pick up a sword against you or yours, mine will fly up to meet his.”

“The Freys took your sword from you Lord Umber,” Sansa said before she could think, “And threw it in the Green Fork.” The Greajon’s smile slipped from his face so fast Sansa was surprised his lips weren’t pulled downward. “The north broke against just the Lannisters and the Ironmen.” She continued, “How can you still believe that a kingdom of the north can survive for long? Aegon the Conqueror ended the idea of seven kingdoms. Alliances that weren’t possible before then are now easy to make, you saw that when the Lannisters got into bed with Roose Bolton and Walder Frey. King Renly had a hundred thousand men with him, they told us in the Red Keep. Whoever marches from King’s Landin will have more than that. Even your sword will wilt before these, I think, and the first one to die will be one of my brothers.”

Sansa heard gasps from all around her. Even the Lords of the Vale were looking at her with dismay. It was the fat Lord Manderley that stood up carefully into the silence. “You know your alliances, my lady.” He said to Sansa, “But war is unavoidable. War is a way of life.”

“War is a way to die.” Sansa said angrily, “Unless you end it.” She looked around the council, breathing so hard she was almost panting, “It might have been a Frey bolt or Bolton sword that killed Robb, but he was dead the moment you raised him to a king. You killed my brother by making him king.”

The pavilion went into an uproar. “I think you should sit down Sansa.” Ser Brynden said warningly. “You know nothing of wars.”

“Women shouldn’t be allowed on a war council,” The Greatjon said in a barely controlled voice, “especially little girls. They don’t know or can stomach war.”, “The knights of the Vale will be with us now my lady,” Lord Galbart said to her in a placating voice, “like they weren’t before. You made that possible.”

But Sansa’s anger had flared up again at being called a little girl. “And how long will they take us as their rulers?” She asked, the Maester’s words from yesterday dancing in her head. “It takes more than a month to mobilize an appreciable army from the north, and then the road south is half that long. The Riverlands have no natural boundary, they were invaded twice in the past three years, and they didn’t even find out on time. It will be on them that the first attacks will fall, and every time the knights of the Vale will have to ride out to help them, till the King arrives from the remote North. No matter how many times you manage to repel the invaders, they will keep coming back, and a time will come that the Valemen and the Riverlords will remember the time of peace that they had under the Targaryens. They will break from Winterfell, and then King’s Landing will set their sights on the North.”

Sansa felt silent, still breathing hard. The lords continued to look at her, and in their eyes Sansa saw only mutinous looks. All they had heard in her speech was that she didn’t believe that the North could win a fight. Everything else she had said didn’t matter to them.

“She’s not Eddard Stark’s daughter.” Lady Meage Mormont stood up and addressed the council even while Sansa was standing, “She’s Rickard Stark’s granddaughter. We all remember what his southron ambitions wrought for us, we all lost kin in Robert’s Rebellion. There is a reason we northmen don’t meddle with the matters down south. Even Cregan Stark, who took King’s Landing and became Hand for the third Aegon, washed his hands of that office just after a day. He knew northmen had no business in the south. His son Rickon, your brother’s namesake, died at Sunspear while he fought beside the Young Dragon. What did that sacrifice ever did for the North? We lost men in the Blackfyre Rebellions, in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, even though they were never really a threat to the north. You may not know all this,” She turned toward Sansa, “But your brother did. That’s why he broke from King’s Landing. He carved out his kingdom with blood so we don’t keep dying in wars that don’t concern us. He rebelled against the crown because the Lannisters killed your father. He fought them because they made you watch Illyn Payne take your father’s head. He died while trying to rescue you from their claws. If you call all these mistakes, then gods save you.”

Sansa realized that there were tears on her cheeks, and that she was biting her tongue to mask the ache in her chest. They were all still looking at her accusingly, silently asking who did she think she was? She couldn’t take it anymore, she whirled around and ran, making her chair fall. Without heeding the calls to her name, she fled from the battle she had lost.

Outside, she saw the snows had increased. They settled on her tears, making them feel even colder. She wiped at them, coming to a stop ten paces from the buzzing pavilion. The guards gave her queer looks, but she ignored them, instead looking out to the camps through the haze of the evening snows. There shouldn’t be any camps. She had called the council so that she could unite the camps. She was drawing her fur cloak closer around her against the cold when angry footsteps sounded behind her, making her turn back.

Ser Brynden was making his way toward her, followed closely by Maester Amos. “What was that?” Ser Brynden took her arm and shook her hard, making her teeth rattle. “Have you lost your mind? I was working on the Greatjon. You accused them of killing Robb.”

And you. Sansa pulled her hand out of his grip and rubbed where she was sure it would bruise by tomorrow, “Working on him?”

“He’s been having doubts about Snow ever since he found out he’d let the Wildlings cross. And then the things you said… It sounded like you wanted to conquer King’s Landing.”

“I don’t,” Sansa said horrified. “You spoke of wars.” Ser Brynden said, as angry as Sansa had ever seen him, “Reminding them again that Rickon is too young to fight. If you don’t let them sit in the castles after they’ve chosen a king, why won’t they choose one that can lead them into battle?”

“Then let them,” Sansa said in an angry, defiant voice. “That is the whole purpose of this council, to determine who will follow Robb. If that means Jon will take King’s Landing, what's so bad in that?” He is the dragon’s son, after all.

Her great uncle looked at her aghast. “Do you _want_ Jon Snow to become king? What did Rickon ever did to you?” He folded his arms, “Why are you trying to rob your own brother’s birthright? By rights, you should want Jon Snow dead. He tried to steal your father’s seat. He burned down the wolfswood, or let loose the people that did. He is a deserter and an oathbreaker, even Ser Alliser, his brother from the Night’s Watch, calls him a turncloak. You should be sentencing him to a block and showing the northmen that you don’t shy away from hard choices. Why instead do you insist on putting an axe again and again on your own foot?”

Because my father wanted Jon to live. Sansa thought, he promised his sister. He wanted me and Arya to go to Dragonstone, and instead I went to Cersei. And now Arya is lost in the Riverlands somewhere. Father is dead, so is Robb, and my mother has turned into a monster. Lord Eddard promised his sister that Jon would live, she thought. I can’t fail my father again.

Her uncle saw the play of emotions on her face. “There _is_ something, isn’t it.” He said frowning. “You are no fool, I’ve seen that much at least. What is it? Tell me.”

“I- I can’t.” Sansa almost sobbed. If they find out he is a Targaryen, they will kill him.

Her uncle frowned again, “Why not? Do the councilors know?”

If I say just one, he will guess that it’s Lord Reed. “No.” She said. Her uncle’s frown deepened, “So you are telling me that you’ve called for a council to judge the succession, and the lords don’t know something crucial about the people they are supposed to judge? How do you expect them to make a fair assessment?”

Sansa blinked. She hadn’t thought about this. Ser Brynden drew himself upright, “I take my words back. Lady Meage was right.” He paused for a moment and looked at Maester Amos lurking behind him, “Rickard Stark also made alliances. And he also had a Maester,” he said disgustedly, “You’d better ask yours what happened to him when walked into the Red Keep with his sword sheathed. I should have kept you in that tower.” He walked back to the tent, shaking his head in frustration.

Sansa looked at him go, for the second time in two days. The Maester approached her timidly, “You must choose your battles.” He said, though Sansa barely heard. “The bridges about the south could have been crossed later.” He put a hand on Sansa’s shoulder and turned her to look into her eyes, “They say women think with their hearts, you can’t get emotional and prove them right…”

“What was all that about my grandfather?” She interrupted him. Lady Olenna had mentioned him once, she suddenly remembered. “What alliances did he make? What was all that about the Starks not going south?” She couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the tent right now, not after being humiliated like that. But if Ser Brynden thought her stupid, she had to make sure he wasn’t right. _You need to know more than any person in the room, always_ , the Maester had said to her. This time, she was not at all reluctant to have another history lesson from him.


	43. Ronnel II

Ronnel advanced on little Tommen with his sword extended. The little king swung his sword, batting at Ronnel’s own, but Ronnel spun and hit the blade onto the king’s helm. Tommen lost his balance, helped by the heavy sword he held, and fell on his hands and knees, turned around from the force of the blow. Now was his chance, Ronnel thought, take out the dagger from his belt and flip Tommen over and put it through his eye. It was so easy Ronnel could almost feel the blood squirting over his face. He advanced on the boy who was trying to get up, and tripped over one of Tommen’s legs.

“Enough.” Roared the master of arms observing them. “Get up, get up.” He came to them and hoisted Ronnel up by his arm. “What was that?” The master of arms, Ser Damon Sand, shouted at the both of them. “He was on the ground, he’d lost his sword. And what do you do? You trip over him.”

Ronnel let go of his wooden sword, letting it drop to the ground as he straightened his helm. “I couldn’t see…”

“What did you just do?” Ser Damon demanded, startling Ronnel and worsening the state of his helm. “Did you just drop your sword? You are trying to be a knight, boy. That sword is your life. If you were in a battlefield, you’d be dead right now.”

If I were on a battlefield I would leave, Ronnel thought crossly as Ser Damon continued to yell at him and Tommen. And the first thing I would do is take this stupid armor off. He hated it, the armor. It got in the way of everything. Of his seeing, of jumping and running, of even moving his arms. How was he supposed to kill people if he couldn’t even swing his arm? It was too heavy. Syrio, the Braavosi who had taught the girl Arya water dancing, he had never worn any armor in their lessons. She had once asked him about it, and he’d said he preferred light armor, “The water dancer dances, he doesn’t charge and shove. The armor must be light enough to allow sudden movements.” Ronnel wasn’t strong enough to shove, couldn’t Ser Damon see that?

When they left the yard, some two hours later, they were in a right state. After one more bout with a sword, Ser Damon had taken them out to balance lances, longer than ever today. Then it was archery. In the end, he handed them axes and told them to run round around the yard with them. It was all Tommen’s fault. He had complained of not being able to breathe when wearing the visor down. “You need to run.” Ser Damon had told him, “Your lungs are as important as the thickness of your arms. And right now you don’t have either.” And so Tommen ran, every morning and every evening, and with him Ronnel, since he was the king’s squire.

He had been the King’s squire for almost a fortnight now, and his food taster as well, and yet Tommen was still alive.

Queen Margery ran to them as they walked out. “It was great.” She told her husband in an encouraging voice, “I saw you at the butts. You hit the mark more than before.”

“Ronnel was better.” Tommen said in an angry voice that was also at the verge of crying. It was almost always like this, and Ronnel was sure that the king shed angry tears the moment he was alone. Ser Damon drilled them very harshly. “Your mother’s let you go soft like pudding.” He had told Tommen the very first day he’d been given the duties of Master of Arms of the Red Keep from the Lord Hand. “We have many years of catching up to do. At your age, your father could already swing his Warhammer for hours on end.” That was probably an exaggeration, since Tommen was only slightly older than ten, even younger than Ronnel, but that didn’t stop Ser Damon from making him do squats with King Robert’s Warhammer.

“I was lucky.” Ronnel said, hoping to placate the king. “I missed almost all of the last ones.” He lied knowing they won’t remember. Of course he had been better. Anguy had taught the girl Arya how to shoot, and Ronnel remembered. It had been in his exhaustion that he had forgotten to miss deliberately.

“No you didn’t.” Came a voice, stopping them in their tracks. The Queen Cersei was standing before them, a wine goblet in her hands, her eyes fixed on Ronnel and a slight, hateful smile playing on her lips. “Take credit for your victories, Ronnel. You beat the king, after all. And not in archery only, but in swordplay as well. It’s something you can tell your friends over a drink, when you are older, and laugh about, isn’t it?”

Ronnel stared at her, his mouth agape. So much was he startled that he didn’t even remember to hate her. The old queen sometimes watched them from a window or a balcony in the Maidenvault, sipping her drink, but she always went inside before they ended. Ronnel avoided looking at her if he could, because the girl Arya didn’t like her. But she had never come down to talk with Ronnel.

Before Ronnel could think of something to say however, Queen Margaery spoke up. “There won’t be any drink left for Ronnel and his friends your grace, I think.” She nodded to the goblet in the old queen’s hand, “Go, I think yours is almost finished.”

The look the old queen gave the young one was one full of loathing. “Tommen,” She said to her son, “Will you sup with me tonight? Myrcella would like to see you, I think. You could tell her about what you’re doing with Ser Damon.”

The king had his helm off. Ronnel could see that he was brightened by seeing that his mother was not as drunk as on most days. He agreed enthusiastically, all hurt from Ser Damon’s training gone. Queen Cersei smiled at him, “Get out of your armor then. And take a bath. I won’t have you smelling like the yard at my table.” She glanced at Ronnel, “Bring your friend as well.” And then she whirled around and was gone.

Ronnel glanced at Queen Margaery and her royal husband uncertainly, “She only means to taste the food right?”

“Yes.” Margaery Tyrell said quickly, “If she asks you to sit, Tommen will tell her that you have to taste my food as well. Right Tommen?” Tommen nodded absently, too happy that he was going to sup with his mother and sister to notice the relieved expression that Ronnel engineered on his face.

It was hard, being around other people all the time wearing Ronnel’s face. All the time, Arya would have to remind herself to not speak her mind, especially where Cersei Lannister was concerned. It was good that Margaery Tyrell had gotten him out of dining with the queen, otherwise the chances of Arya killing Cersei instead of Tommen were too big. That might mess everything up.

Ronnel returned to his quarters in the Castle Sept to prepare himself to wait on the royal family in the night. The evening was approaching fast, and in the sept, the servants were arranging candles before the statues of the gods for the evening prayer. The High Septon was there as well, kneeling before the statue of the maiden with his eyes closed, oblivious to everything around him. He was wearing a dirty white smock and breeches that looked like a wheat sack. He had been wearing a similar garb the first day Ronnel had met with him. Ronnel had been expecting someone like the kindly old man in Braavos that Arya had known, but instead he had found a half starved stick of a man whose eyes reminded him of those of Tywin Lannister’s.

In his cell, Ronnel had his own cell, after he put his things away, Ronnel brought himself a bucket of hot water from the kitchens. He placed it in the middle of the room and took out his washcloth. He then proceeded to strip down completely. The door was bolted, so it was okay. There was no time for a bath, so a wiping down will have to be enough. When he dunked the washcloth in the water and plastered it on his neck, he almost sighed at the sensation. The water trickled down his chest, the rivulets invading the coldness of his sweaty skin, until they ran afoul of his nipples. Those bumps down there would one day make it difficult for him to become a boy, but maybe by then he won’t need to. Hopefully by then he will be Arya Stark again. He was even ready to be Arya Horseface, if it meant being back in Winterfell with Jon and Rickon and her mother…

She had heard about her mother from Tommen himself. The king was afraid, and he talked with his new friend freely. He told Ronnel the bad dreams that he had, about the Iron Throne swallowing him, about the men coming to kill him, about the dragons, and about Ser Robert too. From what Ronnel had heard, Ser Robert was the Mountain come again. “He’s not dead, they never found his body, and even my mum doesn’t know where he is.” Tommen had whispered to him once, “I am almost a man now, and I know monsters only belong in stories. But they say Robb Stark’s mother is alive too. Come back from the dead, just like Lord Beric did so many times. Myrcella even says that in the north, Commander of the Night’s Watch was also dead, till he was called back by Uncle Stannis’ Red Witch. And they all want to kill me.” He’d said miserably, “I said the words. I bent the knee. But I know I am going to die. And even my mother can’t stop it.” Ronnel hadn’t even comforted him, but had run to the High Septon to gain more information. He’d been brushed aside, with a simple, “The demons must be destroyed.” That the High Septon hadn’t outright dismissed Ronnel’s questions about this blasphemy as stupid had almost made Arya cry.

She was crying now, she realized. Tears had begun to seep down from her eyes as she had been wiping down her legs. Cursing herself for being a child, she straightened up and took a deep breath. It was being back here that caused it. It was this wretched castle, this wretched city itself. All her practice of keeping her face as still as calm water had abandoned her when she had made her way to Baelor’s Sept where her father had died. It hadn’t improved when the High Septon had taken her to the Red Keep, where everything else had happened. The Red Keep was exactly as she remembered, and even some of the faces. Cerse, the bald Eunuch. The dornishmen and the new sellswords were different, but not really. None was a friend of House Stark. She was suddenly frightened again, like she hadn’t been on the way here. And she was angry as well. But she had to force her feelings down. She wasn’t Arya Stark. She was Ronnel from the riverlands, for now at least. And if the girl Arya wanted to return to north, she had best play Ronnel flawlessly and kill the people he was meant to kill.

Taking another breath, Ronnel looked at the leather bag lying under the bed. It contained the pouches of the poisons he had lifted from the rookery. It was Lord Quorgyle’s maester that managed the rookery now, and His High Holiness had sent Ronnel to deliver a message. The maester had gone to fetch a servant to clean up the mess that Ronnel had made by accidently knocking over the table, and he had never seen the boy sneak inside the inner room to get to the cupboard. Ronnel had found many poisons he recognized in his loot. He was tempted to take them with him tonight, but he didn’t. Princess Myrcella would be dining with Tommen tonight, and Ronnel didn’t mean to kill her as well. Though, truth be told, two nights ago, Ronnel had deliberately not taken the powders with him even when he knew Tommen would be dining alone.

It wasn’t just that Tommen’s death would make killing Margaery Tyrell that much harder that stayed his hand. The first night he had gotten his hands on the poisons, the royal couple had been joined by Queen Margaery’s cousins for supper, and so Tommen had lived. I just have to bid my time, Ronnel told himself, and keep my eyes open for any opportunity. And so he did. All of the King’s protectors were now of the Warrior’s Son’s, men that knew Ronnel to be a faithful servant of the High Septon, so they were callously unwary of his presence. He saw so many ways that Tommen and his wife could be killed. A right shove while crossing a bridge, a mishap during a training session, a case of a frightened horse when one day they went out riding with Princess Myrcella and her Dornish companions. Ronnel had to make the deaths look like accidents only for a while, so he could get away, and so that gave him much leeway, or so he had thought. There never seemed a good way open for getting away, however. And so he bid his time, looking for the perfect opportunity, all the while seeing more and more different ways to kill Tommen, until…

Until he started seeing further than that. He saw Tommen’s neck snap as he crashed down the stairs. He heard the boy gasp as Ronnel’s blade pierced him. Like what had happened today afternoon in the yard, he started seeing Tommen bleed. The more time he spent in the King’s company, the more Ronnel started hearing Tommen cry out in pain. He saw the whites of his eyes as life seeped out of him. He saw the realization on Tommen’s face that he was dying. He saw his limbs becoming limp, his body sagging to the ground, and his throat giving out the last hiccup, all the while looking Ronnel straight in the eyes…

It wasn’t the first time Ronnel had seen death, but he had started thinking that he had taken on too much when he promised Lord Hardying that he could kill Tommen.

It was Ser Omar the Fierce on the bridge over the dry moat today, and he let Ronnel pass with a nod. Ronnel hadn’t been in this part of the castle when he had been here as Lord Stark’s daughter, but now he knew most of Meagor’s Holdfast as if it were his own home. He climbed the stairs to the Queen’s ballroom to find Tommen seated at the table with his mother and his sister. The servants were loading the dishes. He was just in time.

The royal family paid him no heed as he entered the room, except for Tommen who smiled at him and then directed his attention to what his mother and daughter were arguing about. “I have nothing to hide.” The Princess Myrcella was saying to her mother stubbornly. She ran a hand through her newly cut blond locks, on the side of the missing ear, “They all point at me behind my back, turning away when I look at them. I know what they are talking about. I want the wound out in the open. Tell them I am not ashamed.”

"Shame has nothing to do with it.” The Queen said half angrily and half desperately, sounding a lot like Arya’s sister Sansa, “It is not ladylike to flaunt something like that.” She touched a cut strand that was a bit longer than the others, “And you had so beautiful hair. Why would you cut it?”

“You have short hair.” Said her daughter.

For a moment, Ronnel thought Cersei might strike her daughter. But the Queen controlled herself. “I am sorry.” Myrcella said with her head bowed. Cersei pursed her lips, and shifted her attention to the ever present wine goblet. Myrcella and Tommen turned abashedly to Tommen’s kittens who were roaming by their feet. Soon, the room filled with sounds of laughter.

The servants were bringing the last of the food now, but Ronnel was looking at Cersei’s children and their kittens. Ser Pounce was jumping up on his little legs, trying to swipe at Myrcella’s hand as she dangled it above him and squealed with delight. Boots was nibbling on Tommen’s leather breeches while he caressed Lady Whiskers in his lap. Ronnel looked at Ser Pounce. He imagined him changing targets, from Myrcella’s teasing fingers, to Tommen’s throat. He felt the cat jumping on Tommen’s lap and then make the final lunge, the skin parting at the bite, and he imagined the spray of blood that will come out of Tommen’s throat. He saw Tommen rolling his eyes, coughing blood as his lungs flooded…

Ronnel shuddered and looked away. Was he just a weak boy who quailed in the face of death? It was as if his mind was punishing him for even considering killing this boy, an even younger boy than himself. If it were Cersei, then Ronnel wouldn’t have had any reservations. It had been her that had sent Ser Harys Swyft to hire faceless men to kill Sansa. It was her that Arya had meant to kill. She was the one on Arya’s list list…

But so had been Weese. And Chiswyck. The two names she had named for Jaqen H’gar had been a result of her stupid, childish vendetta. In her stupidity, she had let Lord Tywin leave Harrenhal, and he had gone on to conspire with the Freys to kill Robb. Cersei was nothing but a drunkard now, her death won’t benefit anyone, but make those wary who Lord Harrold needed to be unsuspecting. Arya couldn’t be a little girl anymore. She had to be as clever as Sansa.

Ronnel’s movements had caused Cersei to look at him. “What are you standing there for?” She demanded. She shoved a pot toward him, making it wobble, “Taste this and go.”

The servants had finished loading the dishes, so Ronnel hastened to obey, trying to get rid of the images in his head. He took a spoon from the table, and dipped it in the onion sauce. It tasted of too much pepper, but more importantly, it didn’t kill Ronnel. He moved to the next dish.

“What’s this?” Cersei said, wrinkling her nose at the dish Ronnel was now tasting. “It’s Orange Chicken.” Myrcella answered her. “It is a gift from Nym.”

“Nym, Nym, Nym, Nym.” Queen Cersei said angrily, “It is Nymeria. Didn’t she tell you that?”

“I just call her that.” Myrcella said in a small voice.

“She is not your friend.” Cersei made a frustrated gesture, almost spilling her goblet in the process. “I don’t get you sometime. Are you thick? I bet it was her idea to cut your hair. You go out riding with her almost every other day. Have you forgotten what she did?”

“I go to distribute the food that is coming from Pentos.” Myrcella said defensively, “The prices of fishes and the grain is still too high, but some magister in Pentos is helping us…”

“Yes. But why are you?” Cersei asked, “The smallfolk aren’t your friends either. They broke into the castle, have you forgotten? They wanted to kill Tommen, and they would have done you worse. And the dornishwoman… The damned septas won’t let me, otherwise I would lock you in a cell to stop you from going anywhere near the Dornishmen. They are treating you and Tommen the way they are only so that they could tell Lancel that they are ready for a hostage exchange, and even possibly a pardon.”

“And if there is a pardon, what is so bad about that?” Myrcella asked, apparently not afraid of her mother like Tommen was. “Nymeria did what she did, so did the smallfolk, and now we are here. Tommen’s bent the knee, and I will one day marry Trystane. Let Uncle Lancel bend the knee as well. Let the wars end. The Smallfolk are weary of it. That is why they turned on us. If I am out there helping them with bread, where is the harm in that?”

“The wars won’t end.” Cersei said, taking her eyes from her daughter and staring in the distance. She put the wine goblet back to her lips, and said in voice full of a sense of impending doom, “Not the way you think they will. They never do.”

Ronnel’s job was done, at least of tasting the food, and so he took his leave. He wanted to get as far away as he could from the Princess Myrcella, the princess that was giving food to the scared and hungry people of King’s Landing. He remembered the times when he had wandered the Riverlands in the face of Arya Stark but under different names. How many times she had seen people die without any cause? How many nights had she slept on an empty stomach? The Tickler, Weese, Raff, Dunsen, The Mountain, even Lord Tywin and Lord Bolton, they all had trodden all over the smallfolk just because they could, and here was Myrcella Baratheon giving them food. What will happen to her when Tommen and Margaery die? What if Lord Lancel or Ser Loras killed Aegon in response? Jon Connington could take Myrcella’s head as revenge.

As he made his way back to the castle sept, he wondered whether he ought to write to Lord Harry that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill Tommen, or even his wife, who were just children caught up in this war of adults. Only, Lord Harrold was on the march, and so even if Ronnel stole a raven, how will it find the Lord of Eyrie? It would have been better if Hewitt had been here. He was the man that Lord Harry had sent with Ronnel on the ship Sweet Balaerys, to help him in case he needed it. But he was gone now. Ronnel had found out from the High Septon of Lord Connington’s plan to make a hostage exchange offer to Lord Lancel, and he had promptly informed Hewitt. It had been mere days after Ronnel had come to King’s Landing. He had gone to the Sept of Baelor, where it was agreed that Hewitt will come every noon to pray so Ronnel could contact him if need be, and he told him what His High Holiness had said. Maybe that was a mistake. Lord Harrold might do something about the exchange, but could Ronnel do something about Tommen?

Ronnel went to sleep that night hoping for wolf dreams. But they hadn’t come to him ever since Arya had said his farewell to Nymeria in Braavos. Instead, he saw the girl Arya, riding again through the Riverlands. Only this time, she was one of the Mountain’s soldiers. The Tickler, Raff the Sweetling and Dunsen, and Poliver, they all rode beside her, killing people left and right. From time to time they grinned bloody smiles at her, and showed her all the heads they had collected on their swords. When Arya looked at her own sword, she saw that she was carrying Needle, and that heads were there as well. They were stacked on top of each other, pierced by Needle, staring at her. Each one had once belonged to a child.

A week passed, and then two. Ronnel’s dreams kept troubling him, and outside, the tensions started mounting up in the castle as well. Tommen’s training continued, but the boy grew more and more subdued, and his wife jittery. Two armies were inching towards the city, none apparently wanting to be the first one to approach. The castle was wound up tight, and Meagor’s Holdfast even more so. The ports were going to be closed soon, hopefully, Hewitt would return soon.

But one morning, that became the least of Ronnel’s worries. He woke to a commotion downstairs. He threw on blue shift of roughspun wool and made his way down the stairs to see what was happening.

A crowd was gathered in the sept before the statues of the gods, forming a ring a little distance away from them. At first Ronnel thought the clearing was empty, but then he saw that it wasn’t. He pushed to the front of the crowd, and there, before them all, His High Holiness was hugging the legs of the statue of the Father and bawling. “You can’t forsake me.” He was crying to the statue, “It was only one time. You must forgive me.”

As the onlookers, the servants and the septas and the septons looked on with their hands on their mouths, from their right, Ser Wilbur the Faithful approached his master. Ronnel knew Ser Wilbur to be in on the plan with Ser Loras. “Your Worship.” He called over the buzz of the crowd. “What has happened?”

The High Septon turned around to look at the crowd. His eyes were bloodshot, and his beard was wet with tears. “This has happened.” He said, shoving his gloved hand in front of his face. Only… it wasn’t gloved. And yet, his hand was black as night.

The crowd gasped and drew back as one. Ronnel didn’t understand. “I’ve sinned.” The High Septon cried looking to the ceiling. He started tearing at his clothes like a madman. Ronnel saw more black marks marring his entire body, paches along the torso. It looked as if his skin had turned to stone. Once naked, the High Septon fell to his knees on the straw on the floor, “I’ve sinned" He cried, "and the gods are punishing me. It was wrong.” He lowered his head to the ground in despair, wrapping his hands around, crying all the while. “I was wrong.” He said to the floor, “I was wrong.”

The High Septon died that morning, shot by dornish quarrels as the bowmen stood in the doorway. They had evacuated everyone else from the sept beforehand. Then the King’s Hand, Lord Jon Connington, ordered the sept to be burned. The smoke was rising from the windows within the hour. Ronnel saw Lord Connington whispering something to Ser Wilbur with a grave face. Ser Wilbur never saw it, but buried beneath that grave façade of the Griffin lord, there was a sense of smug victory. Ronnel wouldn’t have missed it in his sleep. He is going to get his hostage exchange now, Ronnel realized. The High Septon had told him about Daenerys Targaryen. He is going to make a deal with the Lannisters for Aegon and Tommen, and together they are going to turn on Lord Harrold so that Aegon could marry his aunt.


	44. Sansa VI

Sansa was brushing Ghost’s coat with a brush while he laid beside her matrasses peacefully. She was remembering Lady, and wondering what she would think if she saw her like this, when Ser Lothar told her that she had a visitor.

Sansa sat up tiredly. She had half a mind to turn them away. Her talk with Maester Amos had left her feeling very tired. She’d thought she was going to be hearing about her grandfather, and she had, but she had ended up thinking more about Rhaegar Targaryen.

Maester Amos had told her about Robert’s Rebellion, and the events that led up to it. “The lords that fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings were friends. Stefan Baratheon, Jon Arry, and Rickard Stark. When Stefan Baratheon died, Jon Arryn took his son as his ward, and Lord Stark sent his own son to be a friend to the young Stormlord.” He told her of the alliance that the maesters suspected formed out of this friendship, and he told her about the possibility of Rhaegar Targaryen finding out about it.

“Time has silenced all those who really know why that tourney at Harrenhal was orchestrated, or indeed, by whom.” He’d said, “Many hold that it was Rhaegar himself, but I disagree. It just doesn’t make sense for the crown prince to be so shrewd and then before the year ends, unravel all of it over a girl.” But the Maester didn’t know what had come out of that unravelling, unlike Sansa. What if the Targaryen kingdom had been sacrificed only for Jon? The discussion had left her more confused than ever.

But she was still to have supper, so she couldn’t sleep yet. You couldn’t sleep on an empty stomach in a cold night such as this. So she allowed the visitors. It was Lady Alysanne Mormont that walked in.

Sansa had first the big woman her in her dream, and then she had watched her sitting behind her mother, her mouth mostly shut and bandages on her arm. She took one glance at Ghost and froze beneath the tent flap.

“He won’t hurt you.” Sansa said, laying her arm over Ghost’s back. “Not with me here.” Ghost didn’t even acknowledge the She-Bear, he continued to sleep with his eyes closed and his head resting on his front legs. The wolf was truly too big to be kept in a tent, but Sansa wanted him close. “Please sit. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked.

“I wanted to apologize for my mother’s words. If she were here right now, she’d say the same.” Aly Mormont said, sitting on a wicker chair. “My mother bears you no ill will, but she must grab any chance that she gets to advance Jon Snow.”

“And to discredit me.” Sansa said.

“That’s why succession wars are the worst.” Lady Alysanne said sadly. “We’d thought that you wanted Rickon Stark to become king without any bloodshed, that that’s why you’d called the council. But after watching you the past two days, it is clear that you are the only one with an unbiased mind in that tent, the only one who sees things clearly. But there are things you haven’t seen. Things you don’t know.” Sansa was startled that Aly Mormont had echoed the very thoughts that Sansa herself had been thinking all evening. “I’ve brought someone to help you see the whole picture,” The she bear continued, “so you might choose wisely.” She called to someone outside the tent.

Sansa had heard of the woman that walked in. Her face was scarred, and but for her face, she looked even more like a man than Aly Mormont did. Sansa still had to get used to women carrying swords. The woman took a knee before Sansa “My name is…” She began, but Sansa overrode her, “I know who you are. Lord Reed told me.” Lady Brienne looked at her, her eyes wide. “You were there when Jon’s sword started burning.”

Lady Brienne nodded. Sansa turned to Lady Alysanne, “Thank you for bringing her to me my lady. But I would like to speak to her alone.”

Aly Mormont was startled by this abrupt request, but she left them alone. Sansa was startled to see Ghost’s eyes open, and to find him staring at Lady Brienne with his teeth bared, the same look he always gave Maester Amos. Sansa ignored it. “You know about Jon’s parents.” She said to Lady Brienne, “Tell my about his burning sword.”

Brienne told her. She told her a tale that was right out of fantasies, only scarier. She told her about flocks of ravens and burning people, about witches and lightening in a cloudless sky. “She called him the Prince that was Promised. But he turned out to be the Azor Ahai, if they are not the same person itself, that is.”

By the time Lady Brienne ended, Sansa knew her thoughts were right. She may know her alliances, and things happening in the south, but she knew nothing about what was there in the north. Nothing about the prophecies. But Jon did. And the two of them, Sansa and Jon, side by side, might be the very thing that the North would need. “How is Jon?” She asked, “Have you seen him recently.”

Lady Brienne shook her head sadly. “He’s badly, I’ve heard. Aly had him chained before, but now she’s given him a tent of his own. But he insists on acting like a prisoner. Not coming out of his tent unless he has. He drinks day and night, and won’t talk to anyone. I heard the Greatjon visited him, asked him to show him his burning sword. Snow told him that it burned only in battle, and welcomed him to face him in the yard. He’s taken the news about his father really hard.” She glanced at the closed tent flap. “Aly thinks you might motivate him to come out of the darkness of his mind. She may not really know what he is going through, but I think she has the right idea. She brought me here after she heard you speak this afternoon. She said if anyone could look past Jon Snow’s alleged desertion, it was you. She brought me to tell you my story, so you could see that the gods themselves have chosen Snow, and at the most crucial point.”

Even a fool could see it, Sansa thought. She rose from her seat. “My uncle told me that you served my mother. If you wish, I can ransom you from Lady Alysanne’s camp. You could come to stay with me, or go home if so you wish.”

Brienne had a strange look on her face. “You remind me so much of your mother, but, I- I don’t think you’d like that very much, my lady. Either way, I am not a prisoner in that camp, but a guest of Aly.” She took a deep breath, as if mentally preparing to say something. “I saved Shireen’s life. She wanted to thank me. When she was returned to her Lord Hand, she offered me a boon. ‘anything in my power’ she said.” Brienne smiled a sad, tremulous smile at the memory, “I asked for Jaime to be free, to not let her Hand burn him or kill him for his crimes. Lord Davos let him go to the Wall to take the black.”

It took Sansa a moment to understand what she was hearing. “You let Kingslayer walk?” She gasped. “Why? He was evil. He broke my father’s leg and killed Jory.” Sansa had almost forgotten about him, the man who had started these wars in the first place. And they let him walk.

“Jory?” Lady Brienne asked, her expressions pained. “It’s a long story my lady. I had my reasons.” She turned away sadly, her head bowed, “I will take myself from your presence.”

Yes, you do that. Sansa gave herself a few moments to compose herself. Couldn’t she have just one friend here? She walked out of the tent when she was sure the Maid of Tarth was gone.

Outside, Lady Alysanne waited for her. “Why did she leave like that?” She asked. Sansa waved the question away. “I want to meet Jon.” She said instead of answering.

“I wanted to bring him.” Lady Mormont said, “but he wouldn’t come, not even for you. He hasn’t even gone to visit Rickon. Lord Davos doesn’t want him to wander too much either, lest his own men be put off by Snow’s attitude. I wasn’t supposed to tell you how he is, but you might be the only one who can pull him out of his stupor. You and him are meant to be side by side, I just know. Him with his sword and you with your knowledge and compassion, you two might be just the thing that the North needs. But we are running out of time.” She glanced backward over he shoulder, and Sansa was startled to see many soldiers making their way north in the evening light. “Those are Manderleys.” Aly Mormont said, “Today, after you left, Lord Wyman concluded that if we were meant to continue the war, we might as well have Snow leading us, especially if you were fine with it.” She looked back at Sansa gravely, “This was a huge blow to the Blackfish. I don’t think he is going to let the council go on much longer. He still has support of half the northmen, and ten thousand Knights of the Vale. He can still win this throne for Rickon, unless you stop him.”

“I don’t think I can stop him.” Sansa said.

“Then help Snow. Bring him out of his stupor. If we can present Snow to the council, show the councillors that he is not the man they’ve heard him to be. I wanted to do it on the first day only, but Snow is impossible to talk to.” She shook her head with frustration, “Come with me to talk to him. He won’t come here, but you can come to our camp.”

“No.” Sansa said. “I have a better idea.”

The morning after found her standing before the gates of Winterfell, though away from the reach of the archers. Men on the wallwalks and from the camps peered at her, seated astride her horse, with her protectors, a wagon, and two Silent Sisters that looked like the paragons of sadness in their gray robes. They had also come here all the way from King’s Landing, just like Sansa.

The night had been foggy, and the air still carried a leftover chill that burned on her cheeks. Impatiently, she looked at the northern camp. “Here comes the Blackfish.” Ser Lothar said, drawing her attention to the riders coming toward her from the southron camp, armed to teeth and carrying swords and spears and bows. “Give us some time to talk.” She said to her companions. They moved away from her. Ser Brynden also left his companions behind. He reined up his horse beside hers. “What do you think you are doing?”

“I need to see my father properly buried.” Sansa nodded toward the cedar chest that the wagon carried. Ser Brynden’s eyes widened as he realized what Sansa was saying. “You can’t walk into Winterfell alone. You’d be a fool to trust Roose Bolton.”

“I would be.” Sansa agreed. “That’s why I’ve arranged for him to stay here, in your custody, as long as I am inside, seeing to my father’s burial.”

“You can do it later.” Ser Brynden said, before snorting, “You know what? I am not even going to try to speak sense to you. I can’t understand what is going through that head of yours.” He glanced at Winterfell, “This is the second you’ve used me like this, going behind my back and letting me find out only when I couldn’t stop it…”

“You wouldn’t have agreed.” Sansa tried to say, but he spoke over her, “I assure you there won’t be a third time. Yesterday, with you absent, the lords found the courage to talk about you, and how a firmer hand than mine might be needed to keep you in check. I do not mean to watch Rickon’s kingdom get handed to this bastard.” He lowered his voice as riders approached them from the north “Today is going to be the last day of this council. No matter who wins the battle for the north, you will have a very reduced role in your brother’s kingdom.”

Sansa turned to look at the group coming at them, trying to hide her anxious expressions. Foremost rode Lady Alysanne, and accompanying her was Jon.

Sansa made her filly go forward to meet the incoming party. “Thank you for coming.” She said.

Jon looked at her hard, as if trying to see if anything was missing in her face. Sansa resisted the urge to get down from her horse and embrace him. The council was still ongoing, no matter what Ser Brynden said, and her hugging Jon in front of everyone would be an unnecessary blow to Rickon. It didn’t help however, that Jon looked so terrible. His face was unwashed, his beard ruffled and his hair matted and dirty, uncombed. He was still in throes of last night’s drink, Sansa could see. His eyes, so like her own father’s, seemed like the eyes of a man who had been sleeping for days, or hadn’t slept at all in weeks. His clothes looked like he hadn’t changed them in a while. “I had to see him…” He said in a voice grown hoarse from unuse, “One last time.” He looked about their horses, “Where is Rickon?”

“He wouldn’t come, not without his wolf.” Sansa told him. Lord Davos had agreed to send him, but the woman that looked after him, a spearwife named Osha, she’d told Sansa that he had refused to get out of his tent without Shaggydog. “I didn’t bring Ghost either.” Sansa made herself say.

“Lady Alysanne told me you’ve been keeping him safe for me.” He sounded as if he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “Yes.” Sansa lied. She didn’t think she could take speaking like this anymore. She wheeled this mount around, to see if Roose Bolton had arrived.

He had. The Lord of the Dreadfort was waiting for them from a distance with five men dressed in the red and white finery of the Flayed Man and one wildling with red hair. On the sight of him, Ser Brynden signaled his men to point their crossbows at him, though Roose Bolton was unafraid. “One wrong move by your men, Lord Bolton” Ser Brynden warned him, “And you will find yourself being leeched by a hundred thirsty bolts.”

Lord Bolton urged his horse forward, his pale eyes shining and fixed on Sansa. “Lady Sansa knows she can trust me.” He said in a soft, promising voice, “I will never hurt her, or hers.”

Sansa made herself nod to him. He was desperate for a pardon, and he knew the only person that will give that to him was Sansa, whose mother he held. That was why he had agreed to this, to curry her favor, to tell her that she could trust him. It made Sansa sick to her stomach, but she swallowed it down. She motioned for Hallis to lead the way with the wagon. In the wagon was the cask in which Sansa’s father lay. She spurred her mount to follow it.

It was beginning to snow as they passed beneath the double walls of Winterfell, yet Sansa pulled back her hood. She wanted to look at her castle. Inside the inner gate, Winterfell opened to them.

The castle was the same as the one Sansa remembered from her childhood. The same structures welcomed her, the same buildings and towers and turrets. The same paths. But at the same time, it was so different. It was almost as if she was as much a stranger to this place as the Silent Sisters that rode before her.

The castle was a sad gray all around, with white snowdrifts covering the grounds. Where was all the color? Men were stationed at each door and each walkway, standing tall beside their spears. But Sansa remembered the household the Stark’s had kept. Wards and grooms and pages and squires, servants and cooks and stablehands, people from the Winter Town, all in a hurry to get from somewhere to somewhere else, and among them, the five Stark siblings ran amok with their friends. Compared to that, this place was as still as a graveyard. The castle held at least five thousand swords, wildlings and Flayed Men and Dustins and some Ryswells and Freys, but to Sansa it felt as if the castle was empty. Faces peered at her from over the walls and countless windows, even from keeps that hadn’t been used in centuries, yet there was no life to this castle. Where were the shouting children? The men practicing in the yard? The hounds barking at each other? Where was the smell of dung, the smokes rising from the kitchens? Why was it so cold? Winterfell had never been cold in Sansa’s childhood. And if it ever was, Sansa would just run to her mother and wrap herself in her warm cloak.

Beside her, Jon rode with his eyes fixed straight ahead. Maybe I should do the same, she thought. Then the memories won’t barrage me like this. Some of the faces were giving them dirty looks, Jon more than Sansa. They were probably the Wildlings. Maybe that’s why Roose Bolton had stationed men along their paths, to safeguard them both from the Wildlings. On a balcony of the First Keep, Sansa spied a woman who could only be Lady Barbray Dustin, wearing a gown whose neck was as high as her opinion of herself. I am burying my father, Sansa said to her in her mind, and maybe it will be your bones that dogs will feast upon. Beside her stood what looked like the nobility that Roose Bolton kept in this castle, the four Ryswells, and a wildling king. Sansa looked at them as she passed, wishing they will disappear and leave her castle to her.

When the reached the First Keep, Sansa made herself keep her gaze forward like Jon. They dismounted in the the lichyard where the Starks buried their faithful servants. Lady was buried here somewhere, Sansa knew. She knew she wouldn’t be able to continue if she caught the sight of her grave. So she kept her mind on only her father’s grave.

The gates to the crypts were open, shoveled snow around it reaching taller than Sansa. She descended the stairs with Jon by her side. Hallis and Ser Lyn and Wallace walked ahead with the Silent Sisters,  carrying the chest and torches. The crypts at least hadn’t changed, Sansa thought as the light illuminated the faces of the Stone kings sitting between pillars. Sansa had never liked these crypts, and it was no different now. The eyes of the statues shone in the firelight, and it was like they were all looking at her pass through the crypts. Watching her pass through Winterfell, through the North.

Her father’s statue was the last in the line, past a group of four closely standing figures. Sansa felt Jon quicken his pace past them. He stood as far away from the statue of his mother as possible.

Ser Lyn unsheathed his sword and with Wallace Belmore, they wandered into the crypts, their torches leading. Sansa knew that Lord Bolton wouldn’t have hidden anyone in here, but she let them search the tombs for ghosts anyway. When they returned, Sansa nodded for them to begin.

Hallis opened the coffin’s door so that Sansa could gaze upon her father one last time. “Lady Catelyn should be here.” Jon said suddenly. “And Rickon.”

And Arya, Sansa thought, and Bran and Robb. “I couldn’t risk Roose Bolton say no to me, so I didn’t ask” She answered Jon. “My mother is his only shield beside Winterfell, he won’t take any chances with her.” She took her gaze back to the blackened skull of her father. Joffrey had stuck it on the Traitors Walk, but now it was here, it was home. Below the skull, Lord Eddard wore his armor, with his hands clasped on the hilt of his sword. Hallis pried open the bone fingers and removed the sword. He transferred it to the lap of her father’s statue. The Starks believed that the swords kept the spirits of the dead locked in the tombs. Sansa glanced at her Uncle Brandon’s statue, and saw that his sword was missing. She’ll have to replace it once she took Winterfell back. She wondered if Bran had taken the original. Could he even wield it, his back being broken and all? She looked back at her father, and wondered for the hundredth time where Ice was.

One small victory at a time, she told herself to try and calm the sudden anger she felt at the Lannisters. I brought him back. I did that much at least. I couldn’t bring back Bran and Arya, but I brought two of his sons back. And him as well. I did that.

Before the statue of her father, a pit was already dug, with soil piled up around it. They lowered the coffin into the ground. Tears formed in Sansa’s eyes at the sight. She wanted someone to hug her, but there was only one family member present here, and Sansa didn’t know how he would react. Hallis had offered a shovel to Jon, but he had declined silently. Instead, Sansa and Jon stood quietly, without talking, listening as the crypts were filled to the sound of soil crunching beneath the shovel and then hitting the ground as it was thrown over her father’s cask. He looks younger, Sansa thought as she gazed at the stone face of her father. He shouldn’t. It makes you forget how wise he was. She looked at Jon, he was also looking at her father’s statue, and wondered what was going on in his head. He felt her gaze and turned to look at her. “Do you know?” He asked quietly. “Yes.” Sansa told him. They returned to the silence again.

When her men were done and the ground was level at the feet of Lord Eddard’s statue, Sansa commanded them to leave. “I wish to speak with my brother alone.”

Ser Wallace left one torch behind in a scone on a pillar before leaving. In its light Sansa turned to Jon. He was still looking at Lord Eddard. “He would be proud of you.” He said in a dead tone.

Sansa looked at the empty space next to her father’s tomb. “I dug up Robb’s bones at the Twins as well, and those of Grey Wind’s.” She said hoarsely, “But we’ll have to wait for the statue first.” Jon nodded, the same dead expressions on his face. “He will be the first Stark king after Torrhen Stark. Beside him…” She closed her eyes, “I should never have called that council. It’s turned the people supporting you from just two to almost half the north. Now if Ser Brynden somehow manages to place Rickon on the throne, he will surely kill you for a deserter, so as to remove any possibility of a future rebellion.” She opened her eyes to find Jon staring at her, “Your only chance to life is to become King in the North.”

Jon stared at her for a bit more, before turning away. “I don’t want that chance.”

Sansa started. “What?”

“I don’t want to be their king.” Jon said, some emotion creeping in his voice. “I am not even in the line of succession. Are they fools…?”

“They don’t know about that.” Sansa said, “And they don’t need to know. At least not now. If they knew that you were a Targaryen, they will kill you.”

“I am not a Targaryen.” Jon turned back to her, “I am a Targaryen _bastard._ ”

“Robb legitimized you. He was a king. You are not a bastard anymore. You can become King in the North, or even march down south to take your father’s kingdom back.”

Jon waver her words away, “I’ve heard this song before. I didn’t like it then, I don’t like it now. I don’t want to become a king. Why would you even want me to become a king, after all I’ve done and failed at? The throne belongs to Bran.”

Sansa looked at him aghast. “Did you not hear me? They will kill you. I am not going to let my brother die for an oathbreaker and a usurper.”

Jon turned away from her again. “I am not your brother.”

His words hurt more than they should have. “I don’t care.” Sansa said, “I don’t care who your father was. It does not matter. You are still half a Stark.”

“I care.” Jon shouted, startling her. “All my life… All the time on the wall…” He was panting, “I asked myself… will my father have done it? Is what I am doing right? Will he be proud of me?” He looked at Sansa, anger in his eyes, “But the truth was that the man I thought to be my father wasn’t my father in at all. My true father raped my mother till she died. I’d always wondered about my mother, and whether my father loved her. Now I know that he didn’t give a fig about anything. Not about her, or his own wife and his other children. He was a monster, and I would rather not become one. Bad enough that I am already a bastard born of rape.”

“You don’t know that.” Sansa whispered, not knowing what else to say, “Maybe they loved each other.” When she was a child, Sansa had loved the romantic and tragic love stories where princes lost their hearts to women and fought against all odds to gain them. Maybe that’s what had happened between Rhaegar and Lyanna. “Maybe they eloped out of love, and didn’t hear about the war till it was too late. Maybe Lady Lyanna died in childbirth.” It was unlikely though. Life was not a romantic love story. If Lyanna Stark had loved the Dragon Prince, and if Rhaegar Targaryen had known about Lord Rickard’s southron ambitions, he would have brought Lyanna Stark to the Red Keep and traded Dorne for the North and its friends. Lady Lyanna must have objected, she was after all betrothed to the Lord of Storm’s End, bur Jon didn’t need to think about all that. “If you don’t care about your father, think of your mother. She loved you. She made my father promise her that he would take care of you. My father loved you as well, no matter who or what your father was. He sacrificed his honor for you and raised you with his own children.”

Her words had no effect. “My mother made Lord Eddard put me through this life.” he said bitterly. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for all these choices, each one worse than the next. They should have killed me when I was so little I couldn’t understand it. Aegon had it better.” His mouth twisted, “And as for your father’s honor… He taught me his honor. I thought that saving the wildlings was the honorable thing to do, so I let them pass through the gate. I thought that father would have saved Rickon as well if he had been in my shoes. Hadn’t he dishonored himself with my mother? Do you know why both of those ventures of mine went to shit?” His voice was growing with his anger, “Because the honor that he build my life on, his honor, was BULLSHIT!”

Sansa stared at him, “My father,” she said, her voice as rigid as her neck, “Was not bullshit.”

Jon was pacing before her, breathing short, shallow breaths, “He could sleep in the nights, couldn’t he? No matter how much others called him on fathering a bastard. At night he could tell himself that he was doing it for his sister. His sweet sister’s babe was living because of him. Do you know what I think of in the nights?” He looked back at her, tears streaming down his face into his beard, “I think of you, facing the northmen and the queen’s men alone. I think of Rickon, surrounded by the cannibals. I think of the Night’s Watch, being led into darkness by the likes of Alliser Thorne. I think of the Wolfswood, burning before me while I am safe on an island. I think of Winterfell, wildlings rooting through the ancient stronghold of the Starks. And I think of myself. Of how big a failure I am and how I did not need to be. If father had not taken me…”

“You would have died.” Sansa whispered.

“Still better this humiliation.”

“If you are king, you can revert it all.”

“If I am king, the first defeat I have will be attributed to the taint in my blood. The bastard born of rape. I know how this goes. This crown is nothing but just another bucket for these lords to throw more shit in. They may want me as King now, but that will change. I’ve seen it before, and I am sick of. They turned on Stannis, didn’t they? He was the one who alone deserved to be the king, the one who could’ve united Westeros. But they killed him. The Night’s Watch elected me as their Lord Commander, and then Marsh killed me. If that is what is going to happen again, why wait? Just tell them to do it right now and spare me further pain.”

“What is it that you want from me?” Sansa cried. “I am trying to make the right choice here. I don’t know anything about what is happening in the north, about all these prophecies and Abhor Ahais. How can you abandon me like this? What about all the wights that are crossing the wall? Don’t you care about what that means for the North? For me and Rickon?”

“These wights are no threat.” Jon said, his voice calming down a little, “They are sent by Bran. He wants you to take some of your Vale lords to the Wall to show them the real threat. He wants you to spread the truth about the Others all over Westeros. He understands this all better than I do.”

For a moment Sansa thought she had heard incorrectly, “Bran sent the wights?”

“He is with the Children of the Forest, somewhere in the Haunted Forest beyond the wall. He is training to become a greenseer.”

Brienne had said that Jon had claimed to talk to Bran on the island. “You still talk to him?” Why hasn’t he talked to me?

“In my dreams. He says he is fine, and not to worry about him.” Sudden grief clouded his voice and made his mouth twist again, “It is Ghost that I cannot feel. He almost died at Melisandre’s hands. I haven’t been able to feel him since then. All my dreams are either of these crypts, or of a dragon chasing me to burn me. Whenever I try to look for Ghost, it feels like there is a wall between us. It feels soft, as if made of clay, but it is as unyielding as the Wall in the north.” He shook his head miserably, “He was so weak, but we had to send him out from the island to bring us game to eat. The last time he didn’t come back.”

“He is fine.” Sansa said desperately, not caring if she had to give him back, “You can have him back.”

Jon shook his head. “Keep him. I don’t deserve him. I was trying to push him away before, afraid that I would get locked in his body. I deserve this. It is good that he has someone who cares for him, who is not the curse I am.”

This wasn’t how this talk was supposed to go. “Just tell me what to do.” Sansa said weakly, “I cannot make these decisions. I’ve already failed father once, I can’t fail him again. Just tell me what to do and I will do it. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Jon turned his back on her again, “I want you to leave me alone. I am sick of it all. I do not want anything to do with anything. They can call me a turncloak or a bastard or a traitor, I don’t care. Kill me if you must. I have nothing left to live for anyway.” He strode down the length of the crypts, walking away from her as the Stark kings looked on.

Sansa watched him go with tears in her eyes. When he was gone, she turned to look at the statue of her father, “Tell me what to do.” She said, “If Rickon becomes king, they will kill Jon. Tell me what to do.” But her father was dead, she had already killed him so long ago, and he couldn’t answer.

That afternoon in the council, Lord Davos Seaworth held the stage. “This council is failing its purpose.” He cried to the assembled lords, pacing behind the seats of his men, “There is no clear majority. The only thing between our two camps, is a matter of opinion. You say Jon Snow is a deserter, we say he fulfilled his vows by dying. You say he tried to march before he died, and we say the gods killed him for that. You say the gods revived him as well, so it wasn’t much of a punishment. There is no accord being reached, and our camps are feeling it. Our men are ready to attack each other as our real enemies sit inside Winterfell, eagerly waiting for us to kill each other for them.” He thumped his hands on the table, “There’s no need for this battle, my lords. Thousands of men don’t need to die. Only one of them. Lord Snow tried to march south to make Ramsay Snow answer for his words. The gods judged him then, they can do it again. The Bolton’s bastard is in my custody. Let me give him a sword. And let Jon Snow face his judgment with his own sword in his hands.”

Sansa left the council in a daze. She looked for Ser Brynden, but couldn’t find it. So she left a message for him with Hallis and went to her tent, to Ghost. Her uncle came to her within the hour. “What does it mean?” She asked as soon as the Blackfish entered, hoping her Uncle will prove her fears wrong.

He didn’t. “It means that we underestimated the Onion Knight. This must’ve been his plan all along. To get the council to agree to a trial by combat, in which he can show off his king’s burning sword.”

“If it burns, that is.” Sansa said desperately, stepping near ghost where he sat on his haunches. “Anyway, it is only to determine whether he is a deserter or not. Not for determining who should get the throne.”

“No.” Ser Brynden said grimly, “Your council is for that. And when they see that sword burning, well, seeing something is different than hearing about something. Halfway through the battle, they will be imagining how that burning star would look like leading them in the battles. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone even kills Ramsay Snow if the battle seems like going in his favor.”

And they all knew this, her councillors, just like Ser Brynden did. They had all still agreed to let the trial by combat happen, even the lords who currently supported Rickon, because of Sansa’s speech yesterday. “They will take him for their king.” Sansa said miserably, looking at her uncle. “And you?”

“I will hail him as the White Wolf and ask him if he will want Robb’s old crown, or should I have a new one made for him? And I will make you present ghost to him as a gift.” He saw the despair on her face, but he had no words of comfort for her. “I am not foolish enough to march against him with only the Knights of the Vale beside me. If I had even two northern lords with me, that would be a different matter.” He paused. “You’ve brought this upon yourself.” He said finally, before turning his back on her and walking away yet again.

As yet another person walk away from her, Sansa Stark looked at Ghost. He was staring at her innocently, his red eyes looking into her soul. But that was it, she realized suddenly. She could no longer feel it. The feelings, the senses that had been with her these past few days, they had all vanished. Suddenly, she was as alone again as she had been in the Red Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG (old ones), was all the inducement given to Sansa just a plot to have Jon receive the North without any bloodshed? Or did they leave their plot to get Sansa to kill him ‘cause she fucked it up?


	45. Ronnel III

The Lord of the Eyrie was not happy. “I told you about the High Septon.” He fumed. Before him sat Connington, with Lord Yronwood, the Master of Whispers Varys, and Ser Wilbur. Ronnel stood behind Ser Wilbur, trying not to meet Lord Harrold’s eyes. “If you are with us, it will tell Lord Harrold that all the swords of the faith have taken Aegon’s side now.” Ser Wilbur had told him when he told Ronnel that he was to attend the meet. His intentions had worked, it seemed. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be walking into battle with a knife pressing in your back.”

“And we are grateful to you.” Lord Connington said, “But we did not need your assistance, as it turned out. The gods had Aegon’s back.”

“Lancel Lannister has Aegon’s back.” Lord Harry retorted, “And his front and sides as well. He’s captured your princess too.” He said to Lord Yronwood, “Are you going to let the Lannisters walk over you again, Dorne?”

Lord Yronwood bristled, “No one walks over us, and that includes you as well. We do not want your Baratheon queen. The Seven Kingdoms belong to the Targaryens. Elia’s son and Rhaegar’s sister. If you don’t want to burn in dragonfire, best bend the knee now.”

“Lord Hardying himself doesn’t want the Baratheon queen.” Varys said soothingly to Lord Yronwood. He smiled at Harry. “She’s run afoul of the wolfswood and set it on fire. The northmen want the stormlanders gone, but Lord Davos still hold Rickon Stark and he is answering the northmen with defiance. Then there is also the question of all the poor folk who lost their only shelter in winter in the deadly wildfire. The North will be licking its own wounds for a while, I think. You’ve spent your time in the riverlands visiting various lords along the trident, but none have risen for you.” Ronnel saw a flash of fear flicker across Lord Harry’s features, or was it triumph? Others didn’t notice anything. “You are alone here, and will be so for a while. Unforeseen changes on the ground have come in our favor my lord, you must acknowledge that.”

This is a man who does not like to acknowledge, Ronnel thought as Lord Harry acknowledged what Varys had said. “We are not unreasonable.” Lord Jon assured him. “We are offering pardons to the Lannisters, and I think that will be enough. I see no reason not to annul Lady Sansa’s marriage. The moment we appoint the Most Devout select a new High Septon, Lady Sansa will be free of her marriage vows, just like you had promised her.”

“I had also promised her Cersei’s head, and that of any other Lannister that I could find.” Lord Harry said.

“She’s taken the head of every single Frey.” Varys said. “Let her be content with that. I remember her from when she was here. Even in the harshness of Joffrey’s prison, she remained as gentle a soul as she ever was. I know she will welcome this peace, and see sense in it.”

“She needs to rebuild the North.” Jon Connington said bluntly before Lord Harry could say anything. “She can’t do that in the midst of a war. The Blackfish will crush the smuggler, no doubt about that, but that will cost them the Iron Bank. Make peace with Aegon, and the first loan the Iron Bank issues will be to the North.”

“Maybe she won’t need any loans. White Harbor has been building warships for over a year. Maybe the Blackfish will descend upon you to exact payment in kind for your betrayal.”

“We have a fleet as well, my lord.” Lord Yronwood said coldly, “Two, once the Tyrells bend their knees. Lord Redwyn is itching to take revenge on the Ironmen for they havoc they played in the Reach and at his own home. Once he is done with Pyke, he will turn for the Stoney Shore. As for the fleet of King’s Landing, their first visit will be to Gulltown. It takes time for the North to call its banners, and it will be worse if they are already busy at Winterfell with their own wars. Gulltown will have no help coming for it. And then we will sail onto White Harbor. But that’s for later. The first blow will be on you. There will be more than fifty thousand swords turning on you in just a matter of days, unless you bend the knee.”

Rage had filled Lord Harry’s eyes as he listened to Anders Yronwood threaten him. But he swallowed it when Lord Yronwood mentioned the fifty thousand swords. Ronnel could see him trying to think of a retort that won’t offend the fifty thousand swords, “And unless Lancel Lannister refuses your offers.” He said finally, “Without me, you have only half the men he has.”

“Lancel is a man of the Faith.” Ser Wilbur said, “When he hears how the gods struck down His High Holiness for his support of Tommen, he will bend the knee to Aegon.”

“So you think.” there was a faint tremble in Lord Harry’s mouth.

“So I know. Ser Lancel was dear to His High Holiness. He told me that the seven sent Ser Lancel visions. I never knew what to make of that claim. But now… We have heard tales of how on the march to Cider Hall, Lancel had a vision of him rescuing Aegon from the Kraken’s clutches. That was why he almost killed his men trying to reach Cider Hall in time. He must’ve thought the gods were giving him a chance to save Tommen from Lord Connington, but now even he must see that the gods were guiding him to save the true king of the Seven Kingdoms in his hour of peril. Don’t fear the dragons if you don’t want to, they were brought down a century and half ago. But can you bring down the gods my lord? Aegon is the god’s chosen, it is plain. Lancel will bend to the will of the Seven.”

“He will bend to the fear of the Tyrell brothers killing him so they can get you to marry Margaery Tyrell to Aegon, you mean.” Hardying’s voice was bitter now. He shot Ronnel one last angry look and stood up, “My lords, it seems that the gods have truly favored you here. Though if I were you, I would consider that if it were the ‘unforeseen changes on the ground’ that elevated you, they could bring you down just the same.” He left the room with angry strides to return to his camp outside the city. His guards followed him out.

Before today, Ronnel would have given anything to be on the council, to hear what was being said about the things up north and about Lord Harry. But when today it had been the last thing he’d wanted. “The boy is angry.” Lord Varys said looking at the doorway through which Lord Hardying had disappeared, “Of course he is angry.” Lord Connington said, “No fifteen year old boy likes to bend the knee in a battle. But he is more sensible than most, I think.”

“Well, he is not the only one angry.” Lord Yronwood said, “I must say, I agree with him on a lot of things, the Lannister pardons for one.”

A strained look appeared on Lord Connington’s face, “Which is why you must go to him tonight. Tell him that you’ve approached him in secret, and repeat to him what you just said to me.”

Lord Yronwood narrowed his eyes, “And?”                 

“And, tell him that you and Hardying must see to it that after the peace the Lannisters have no place in Aegon’s court, except for maybe as hostages. If he really cares that much about the North, be prepared to reserve some seats for them as well. That will help mollify Sansa Stark as well, I think. And make sure to again offer Princess Arianne’s hand in marriage to him, if that is what he really wants.” He stood up, “I want Aegon’s court to be fresh my lord. These compromises are needs borne out of war, I like them no more than you do. But you must remember that there are many other ways to exact revenge on people than war. Be sure to tell Hardying that as well.”

The council wound up. “Go back to the Maidenvault.” Ser Wilbur told Ronnel. That was where the royal family had been moved after the High Septon had died. The swords of the faith were removed… and then brought back when Lord Connington realized that he could trust them. Ser Wilbur had known about the High Septon’s plan to restore Tommen, and he believed that that was why the gods had killed him. He’d spread the tale in the ranks of the Warrior’s Sons, and now they were devoted to Aegon and his hand like never before. Upon hearing about the High Septon’s death, Lord Harry had increased his pace in case Lord Jon needed rescuing from the mob, but he had reached an indivisible city that had no need or place for him, at least not the place he wanted.

It was while he was crossing the drawbridge to the Middle Bailey that Ronnel felt someone’s gaze boring into his bowed neck. Around him, the castle was emptier than it had been since Ronnel had arrived here. After the High Septon’s death, Lord Connington had ordered everyone that was not someone out of the castle. Ronnel had only stayed on the entreaties of Margaery Tyrell, “Tommen needs his friend,” She’d said to Jon Connington. Ronnel didn’t know if he was glad to stay so he won’t have to return to Lord Harry’s camp a failure, or miserable that he still had to battle with the idea of killing Tommen daily. What he did know was that he wasn’t going to be captured and exposed by Varys or his birds. Whoever was watching him was going to feel the brunt of all the anger Ronnel had been feeling toward himself.

Ronnel continued to walk as if nothing had happened. Calm as still water, he told himself. There was something in his hair, and he whipped his hand over it, turning his head in the process…

…and saw Hewitt leaning against the burned sept.

The skeleton of the sept stood beside the ruins of the Tower of Hand. Its walls were blackened by soot, made darker in the approaching night, and its crystal windows were shattered. There was nary a soul inside. People were afraid to even look at it, the silent sisters had to have been shown the whip to make them enter and collect the High Septon’s body. And yet here Hewitt was, against a blackened red wall chewing a blade of grass. When he saw that Ronnel had seen him, he shoved off and turned toward the library, clearly wanting Ronnel to follow him.

Ronnel stared after him. How had he gotten in? They had counted everyone in Lord Harrold’s party going in and out. How had he slipped away? Only when Hewitt slipped past the library tower and headed for the godswood did Ronnel make himself move.

Evening was approaching fast. The day had been one of the warmer ones, but the mists were thick in the godswood. The soil was wet on the ground from the snowmelt. Why hadn’t Arya come here once since Ronnel had arrived at the Red Keep? It was nothing like the godswood at Wintefell, nor like the sprawling one she had practiced Needlework in at Harrenhal, but it was still a godswood. The place of her father’s gods. Had she been Ronnel for so long that she had even started following the seven? She heard Hewitt’s footsteps through the mists, though he must’ve thought he was being quiet, and turned to him. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

“What am I doing here?” Hewitt hissed, baring his yellow, rotting teeth, “What are you doing here? You came to kill the boy. Harry never thought you could, but then you became his food taster. You even have the poisons. Why is he still alive? Why is Harry having to bend the knee, when it should be the Lannisters begging for mercy for what they did to Jon Arryn?”

“You shouldn’t speak like that.” Ronnel hissed, “Varys’s birds might be listening.”

“There are no birds here,” Hewitt looked around at the trees, “No rats neither. This is where the Stark girl came to plot her escape, Harry told me. Your secrets are safe here.”

Ronnel blinked, trying to imagine Sansa Stark here. He often forgot that Arya Stark’s sister had been here in this keep not so long ago. How had she ever survived here, where everybody was trying to kill each other? She had even killed a king here. And yet here Arya was, unable to kill Tommen and making her bend the knee to the Targaryens whom their father had helped dethrone. Maybe it was good that she hadn’t visited the godswood yet. The old gods probably didn’t even want to see her. “How did you get in the castle?”

“The Imp’s pet had sent Shagga out scouting Harry. It was easy to convince him to let me join him. I didn’t ride with the Moon Brothers the last time they were here. My sister was with child. ‘He could be the lord of the Vale one day’ the fool said to me.” He spat, “Well, that’s gone now, but Harry’s still here. So I’ve come here to do what you couldn’t.”

“You can’t kill Tommen.” Ronnel said before he could stop himself. “He’s not done anything to you. He is just a boy.”

Hewitt frowned. “Boy or man, every man must die someday.”

Valar Morghulis. It had been a while since Arya Stark had said that. “They will help the north, they said. Help them with loans and the wildfire, even give them seats on the council. They will send the Lannisters back to Casterley Rock. If Lord Harry bends the knee, the war will stop. No more children will die.”

Hewitt’s eyes narrowed, “Been sitting on their councils, have you? Well I’ve been with Harry. Sansa Stark’s written to him that the Northmen won’t have Aegon as their king. They are going to put Rickon Stark on his brother’s throne, as soon as Lady Sansa gets him out of the Onion Knight’s clutches. Harry wants me to kill Tommen and Margaery so Lancel Lannister will kill Aegon, leaving no king to oppose the King in the North.”

A king in the north… Ronnel bit his lip. “Even if Tommen and Margaery die, the dornishmen will crown Myrcella so her dornish husband becomes the lord of the Seven kingdoms. There will be a king to oppose the Kingdom of the North.”

Hewitt waved her objections aside, “A weak king. The Dornishmen and the Lannister may form an alliance, but it takes trust to fight beside each other against an enemy. With the Tyrells out of the picture, they won’t be a threat to the North. So if you want a King in the North again, throw a rope down a window tonight. I’ll be hiding in the sept.”

A king in the north… Ronnel bit his lip. “Even if you get in the Maidenvault, you’ll never get past the guards.”

“I will.” Hewitt said confidently, “You’ll drug them. You don’t have to kill them, just put them to sleep.”

“You will cause a ruckus, wake the whole castle.”

“Let them wake. As long as Tommen’s dead…”

“You won’t be able to get out. You will die too.”

“Everybody dies someday, boy. Get that through your head. The only thing that matters is how you die. If I do this, I will know Harry will not forget about my sister.” He flipped his hood over his head. “Tonight, at the hour of the Wolf. A rope. Otherwise it might be too late.”

A rope, that was easy enough. But now he was going to have to watch Hewitt die as well as Tommen and Margaery, and then Aegon Targaryen will die as well. What if I don’t drop the rope? But then what about Rickon and Robb’s throne… The war will go on, he realized, and the children will keep dying, women will keep being raped. And worse, Aegon will have the entire might of the southron kingdoms to march against Rickon.

I can’t do anything about Rickon getting the throne, but I can do something about Aegon. Ronnel looked at the heart tree. It was a great oak tree with no face, yet he could feel the old gods watching. He would have dropped to his knees and prayed, but he wasn’t sure if the old gods would listen to a murderer. And he didn’t want to find out if they did.

But it turned out that even tonight was too late. When Ronnel returned to his chambers adjoining those of Tommen’s he found Queen Margaery waiting. Surprised, he dropped to his knees.

“Get up.” The queen said kindly. “I am no longer royal. You don’t have to kneel before me.”

“Forgive me my lady,” Ronnel said getting up, “But you are still Lady Tyrell.”

Margaery looked like she was trying to forget that fact. “Tommen is asleep,” She told him. “You should get some sleep too. Tonight you are going with him to Lancel’s camp.”

Ronnel was startled, “Tonight?”

“Yes.” Margaery sounded sad. “They agreed to it in secret. Connington and Lancel. Tommen for Aegon. A King for a king. Not even my brothers know, and Lord Connington’s sent Yronwood to Lord Hardying so the both of them will be too busy with each other to interfere in the exchange.” She looked up at him, “Ser Wilbur will be coming with you, and a few guards, and Lord Connington himself.”

“Not you?”

“Not me. Nor Cersei, though both of us wanted to. Ser Wilbur says Lord Connington can’t trust that Loras and Garlan don’t know about Lancel’s plans, and that he fears that if I came, my brothers might betray Lancel once I was in their hands, and take Aegon back to their camp. I told them that their fears were baseless, that if Garlan and Loras haven’t betrayed Lancel till now, they won’t do it now. But they think that it was only because the High Septon held me.” From her voice, it seemed that she herself believed it to some degree. “And as for Cersei, well, she is just mad. You should’ve seen her. I thought it might soothe her to know that her son was going to go to his uncle’s camp, but she seems convinced that something terrible is going to happen to him.” Even though she was calling Cersei mad, Ronnel couldn’t help but notice that Margaery’s own voice shook as she said this.

In the past few days, Margaery Tyrell had taken to talk to Ronnel about her woes. In her own way, she reminded him of Cersei. She had no ever present wine glass in her hands, neither the sleep deprived eyes, but the fear in her face was almost the same. She couldn’t talk to her father, didn’t want to talk to her father in fact, because she was convinced that if he found a way, he will contact her brothers and command them to betray Lancel Lannister so he could have his daughter made queen again. It revolted her, her own family, Ronnel could see. Nor did she want to talk to her cousins for fear of scaring them. So she seemed to have chosen Ronnel, ever since the High Septon had died and she had had to expose her plans to Lord Connington. “I just want this to end.” She said now, taking Ronnel’s hands in her own but talking to the air, “Varys said I might be able to choose my own destiny, but that was a lie. It was always a lie. I am sick of others deciding my life. Thrice wed and twice widowed. I just want to cherish what I have now, go live with my husband without being any bother to anyone. Is that too much to ask?”

“It will end soon.” Ronnel lied to her. “You’ll have your life. The battles will stop, and you and Tommen will go to your new home to Casterley Rock.” He smiled at her and squeezed her hands, though he wasn’t sure if she was listening. “You’ll have a new family then. Your own family.”

When she left his room, he made his way to the stables where Arya Stark had killed her first man. Ronnel had some killing of his own to do.

Some five hours later, Ser Wilbur came to his room to wake him up. After getting dressed for the ride, they met with Tommen at the door of the Maidenvault. Queen Margaery was present there as well. “Be brave.” She told her husband, crouching over him so that they were face to face. “I will come to you very soon.” Tommen nodded, seemingly on the verge of crying.

The night was pitch black. Torches glimmered like stars on the walls, but the darkness seemed to suck the light out of them. It was the hour of the Owl. Ronnel glanced at the walls surreptitiously. Only a few guards walked the parapets, their gazes directed outward. It seemed Lord Connington had sent the men to walk the walls, keep an eye on the Vale camp, so that they won’t notice Tommen’s party leaving the Red Keep.

Even so, they took care to not be conspicuous. Tommen was silently yawning as him and Ronnel followed Ser Wilbur to the outer yard. There, by the throne room, Jon Connington was waiting with ten guards, with only one torch between them. Ronnel couldn’t help but notice that most of them were men of the Faith. He almost smiled at the irony of Connington trusting the High Sparrow’s men. Only two wore the dancing griffin on their breast.

Though the light was sparse, Ronnel could see Lord Connington frowning as they walked toward him. “Damn it,” He cursed, “Where are those bloody horses?” In the stables, Ronnel thought, but not the one you’d want. “Get in the throne room.” Lord Connington hissed to Ser Wilbur, “I will go see what’s taking them so long.”

Two of the guards opened the door for them. The Great Hall was empty, save for the shadows. Four lanterns hung from four pillars. Before them, on the far end of the room sat the Iron Throne, a hulking pool of blackness with shining blades poking out. Stick them with the pointy end... Above the lanterns, the dragons hung. Ronnel remembered the times Arya Stark had come across them in some dungeon. Monsters made of shadow waiting to eat her. In the dull red glow of the lanterns, they looked even more menacing, their sharp teeth casting long shadows over the ceiling. She could feel Tommen trying not to look at them either of them.

But then he gasped softly as his gaze travelled to the shards of light falling through the blades on the steps of the Iron Throne. “What’s that?” He asked Ronnel.

Ronnel glanced quickly over his shoulder. The guards and Ser Wilbur were busy peering out of the windows to see where Lord Connington had gone. This was his chance. He wasn’t carrying needle. No blades were permitted around the king, and ven if Tommen was no longer a king, at least in the Red Keep, Lord Connington had still chosen to enforce the rule, with the only exception of the guards. But there were other ways to kill someone. “I think it is Ser Pounce.” Ronnel said to Tommen, his voice dropped low so the men won’t hear.

“He shouldn’t go up there.” Tommen said in an equally low voice, “If he falls, he might die.”

Or he might not. “Go and get him down.” Ronnel suggested urgently.

Tommen glanced uncertainly toward Ser Wilbur, “I- I don’t think…”

“What if he falls on one of the blades. Go bring him down, before he hurts himself. Maybe they will let you take him with you. Maybe we could hide him in our saddles.”

Tommen looked back at the kitten jumping slowly up the steps, sniffing at the shadows and rubbing up against the cold iron, “I don’t know.” He looked at Ronnel, “I am afraid.”

His dreams. “I’ll come with you.” Ronnel took his hand and squeezed much the same way he had his wife’s. “Let it be your last time on the throne. Then you can become the Lord of Casterley Rock. The Lord of Casterley Rock can’t be afraid of nightmares.”

Tommen looked back at Ser Pounce. “Ok.” He whispered. He glanced back again, to make sure that the guards weren’t watching. “If they see, they’ll be angry.”

“They won’t see.” Ronnel promised. He started following Tommen as the king tiptoed forward.

When they reached the base of the stairs, Tommen glanced back at Ronnel. He seemed torn between his fear and the fact that a lowborn like Ronnel should never be so near the Iron Throne, let alone climb it. But Ronnel gave him a reassuring smile, and Tommen continued. As they climbed the steps, Ronnel took off his cloak. Underneath, he was wearing the doublet upside down, the stitching on it unrecognizable in this light.  Then he took off his face, making a trickle of blood run down Arya Stark’s cheek.

The steps felt cold to Arya’s feet even through her boots. The pointy ends poked into empty air on the both sides of them. Arya wrapped her cloak around her forearm, making it as small as possible. Stick them with the pointy end… She wished she could forget the phrase. She didn’t want to think of Jon right now.

When they were just a step or two from the kitten prancing around on the seat, a shout rang across the length of the Great Hall. “Hey” Lord Connington had returned, horses with him from the stables near Meagor’s Holdfast.

Tommen jumped in fright. Arya sidled up to him and put a hand on his shoulder to form a firm grip. She turned him to face her, and pushed with her cloaked hand. Stepping back, Tommen gave a soft gasp as the jagged metal sunk into his back. Arya didn’t stop pushing until she felt blood her hands in the front. Tommen made a soft, gurgling sound, but Arya refused to look away. “Valar Morghulis.” She said as the light went out of Tommen’s surprised eyes.

She heard horrified gasps coming from down on the floor. She whirled and ran down the stairs, leaving Tommen hanging between the blades, but Lord Connington was at the base of the stairs, his sword shining in his hand. Ser Wilbur was hard at his heels. Arya stopped indecisively, but only until they got a good look at her face, and her upside down clothes. She turned back and ran up the stairs. A couple of steps up, and Ser Pounce jumped down on the two knights. Arya could hear them colliding with the twisted metal and barbs on their way down, their armor screeching in protest.

Turning to her left, Arya put her foot on a barb poking out of a side, and jumped as hard as she could. Twisting into a ball in midair, she unrolled and landed perfectly on the ground some twelve feet below, nimble as a as a cat. The two guards had run up the Iron Throne to catch her, but they didn’t dare to make the jump, wearing all the armor they had. Swift as a deer, Arya was out of the King’s Door at the back and into the gardens before they could get down the steps or Lord Connington could get to his feet.

Running through Myrcella’s gardens, Arya took off her cloak and flung it over her back. She cinched it tight around her throat just as she entered the godswood, her eyes darting to see if Hewitt was there. Either he wasn’t, or it was too dark that she couldn’t see him. Arya hoped it was the former. She fell face down on the ground, coming only to a stop after rolling a couple of times.

Lord Connington was the first to arrive, a torch in his hand. But he took one look at Ronnel’s face, and cursed and continued onward. Ser Wilbur knelt by him. Of the other two guards, there was no sign. Maybe they were seeing if they could save Tommen. “What are you doing here?” Ser Wilbur asked him.

“I had to piss.” Ronnel said, breathing hard. “Who was that that was running? They bowled me over.”

Ser Wilbur didn’t answer, instead of looking at Lord Connington’s torch disappearing into the woods. They heard him cry out for guards. “Go back to the Maidenvault.” Ser Wilbur said before he got up and ran after Lord Connington.

Some part of Ronnel wanted to go back to the Throne room, to look upon the boy he had killed. But the night wasn’t over yet. He followed the disappearing torches to the Middle Bailey, and turned for the alley beside the Maidenvault.

Hewitt was waiting there, crouching in a shadow. “What’s happened?” He asked when he saw Ronnel wandering in the dark, “Who are they looking for?”

“Not you.” Ronnel told him, “Come with me, I will get you inside the Maidenvault.”

Before the ruins of the Castle Sept and the Tower of Hand was a flurry of guards running around, looking for something that their lord only described as a boy. One guard even turned to Ronnel, pointing him out to Lord Connington. But the Griffing Lord snapped, “Not him, fool,” And that was that. Head bowed and with hasty steps, Ronnel entered the confused Maidenvault with Hewitt. People called out to him, but he didn’t stay his course.

Outside the queen’s room, Ronnel told Hewitt to wait for him. “If someone asks, you are looking for the boy.” He said to him. He knocked on Margaery’s door.

“What’s happened?” The queen asked him asked with a white face as if she was anticipating the worst. “They’ve killed Tommen.” Ronnel said, his mouth twisting with anger and grief.

His expressions were nothing compared to that of Margaery Tyrell’s. “But- What about Ser Wilbur? What about Jon Connington? They promised.” Tears formed in her eyes, “He was so little, just a boy. Who would do such a thing? Was it Hardying?”

“There are no Hardying men in the castle. It could just as well have been Lord Yronwood.” Ronnel took a shuddering breath. “He wasn’t happy with the Lannister pardons, and that Aegon had refused to marry his dornish princess.”

Margaery Tyrell closed her eyes. “He wants the throne for Myrcella, so Dorne could get it.” She sank to the floor, her hair in her hands, pulling, and let out a scream of anger and frustration, “The Throne. The Throne. The Throne.” She said, her voice rising every time she said throne, “Everybody wants the Throne. Why, I could never fathom. Haven’t they seen what happens to whoever sits the fucking throne?”

“I don’t think it will stop with just Tommen, your grace.” Ronnel said, fear in his voice. “If he wants your brothers to let Lord Lancel kill Aegon, he must anger them first, and take away their reason for keeping him alive. I think your life will be the one he will seek next.”

Margaery Tyrell paled even more, if that was possible. “Connington won’t let him.”

“He will try, but if Yronwood uses a hidden knife again, like he did tonight, he might not be able to stop him.” Ronnel took a step forward, “And even Lord Connington won’t confront Yronwood openly about it. He wouldn’t want to lose Dorne from his side.” He paused for a bit, as if considering something, “And even if he does take that chance your grace, he will contact your brothers himself, to make a deal with them to make you queen so that Aegon lives.” Margaery Tyrell didn’t know about Daenerys Targaryen, Ronnel was certain. The High Septon had never told her. She still believed that Aegon might marry her if it meant an alliance. “Lord Connington might even kill Myrcella to take away Yronwood’s motivations.”

“They are going to kill each other like dogs and wolves, aren’t they? They are going to soak the Red Keep in their blood with their greed.” She threw herself on her bed and covered her face in her hands, shaking her head and speaking through her fingers to the bedspread, “I never wanted this. Any of this. I never wanted to be queen, not even when my father said that Renly could never lose. And now that I’ve seen what it does… I don’t want to end up like Cersei, frightened out of my wits convinced that the next breath my child takes will be his last. I can’t marry Aegon, I can’t… I can’t…”

“I can help you.” Ronnel said, but she seemed not to hear. “I can get you to the Vale camp.” He said a bit louder.

She looked at him. “The vale camp?”

“I have a friend in the Warrior’s Sons. He wants to go to his rightful lord, now that the High Sparrow is dead. He’d sought me out after the His High Holiness died, after he learned that I had been to Maidenpool to meet with Lord Harry. He wanted to know what kind of a man the new lord of the Eyrie is. He was one of the guards that Lord Jon brought with him tonight. He is outside right now. You can leave the castle with him, dressed like a knight. No one will be paying attention, they will think it is just two guards going out to the wall on someone’s order. You can then ask for protection for Lord Hardying.”

In her fright and anxiety, Margaery Tyrell didn’t question when did Ronnel had time to think all this, “But- why Hardying? It might be him that’s killed Tommen.” She asked instead.

“No, he couldn’t have.” There was strong conviction in Ronnel’s voice, “When we were in Maidenpool, he said to Ser Loras that you were a friend to Sansa Stark when she was in the Red Keep, and that she told him to make peace with you. He refused Ser Loras at Maidenpool, that he won’t bend the knee to the Lannisters, not even for the price of Myrcella’s hand in marriage, but he never told Lord Connington about the meet, even while negotiating terms of surrender. Lord Connington only found out about Ser Loras when Ser Wilbur told him.”

Margaery Tyrell was still uncertain, afraid. “I don’t think…”

“There is no time to think, your grace. Lord Yronwood means to kill you. He must have been planning this for a long time, but Lord Connington forced his hand tonight when he tried to exchange Aegon for Tommen. As for Connington, he will make you queen.” Ronnel was spewing more lies in a breath than Arya Stark had in her entire lifetime, but the fact that Margaery Tyrell believed half of them made the job far easier, “Hewitt could get you to your brother’s camp, but they might themselves force you to marry Aegon.” Margaery tried to deny it now, but Ronnel spoke over her half-convinced protests, “But if you went to Lord Hardying, you could send messengers to your brothers, telling them to give up Aegon and the Lannisters and end the war.” Of course, Lord Hardying won’t let any messenger go to save Aegon, but Margaery didn’t need to know that. “You don’t have to be queen then, or dead. Tommen might be lost, but you aren’t. I couldn’t help him, but please your grace, let me help you. If you can’t trust in Harrold Hardying, trust in your friend Lady Sansa, who sent him here.”

That seemed to convince her. They dressed her in Tommen’s armor, with the stitching and marks ripped out. “You were supposed to kill her.” Hewitt hissed at him when they were alone, hacking at Tommen’s armor. “I’ve already killed Tommen.” Ronnel hissed back, “Ask Lord Harry, and he will tell you that a hostage is better than a dead body.”

Their preparations went, for the most part undisturbed. Some guards poked their head in, to see if the boy that had killed Tommen was hiding here. Margaery hid in the bath and Ronnel pointed toward Hewitt and said that he had already searched the queen’s chambers. Ser Wilbur also came to see Margaery, Ronnel told him that she had gone to see Tommen’s body. Margaery’s cousins and father wanted to see her, but all they heard was that she had gone to see Lord Connington, or Ser Wilbur, or Tommen’s body, and will come back soon. They had time, but not much. What Ronnel was most afraid was that some of Varys’s birds that hid in the walls had heard their conversation, and would go and tell him.

But if they did, the eunuch didn’t appear, and in short time, the Tyrell queen was done and ready. Margaery had bound her long brown curls in a bun behind her head before she put on a helm. Tommen’s gorget fit her and hid her neck, but his newest breastplate was a little short. They put a chainmail byrnie on her shoulders that almost reached her knees. Under those she wore roughspun breeches and a tassel belted at the waist. All this they wrapped in one of Hewitt’s cloaks. Ronnel thought she looked ridiculous, especially the iron shoos she wore to hide her delicate feet, but Hewitt assured them that incomplete and mismatched armor was all too common in lowly scouts.

Margaery Tyrell seemed afraid of the lice ridden wildling, but she hid her fear bravely. When she thanked him for helping her, Ronnel asked himself what he was doing. She reminded him so much of Sansa Stark, but with a level head and some wits. They were exploiting her trust knowing they will betray it later on, just like the Lannisters had done to Sansa. Was Arya no better than a Cersei? And Cersei hadn’t even killed someone the way Arya had killed Tommen.

But it was too late to turn back now. Hewitt had gone to find them horses, he had taken a purse of gold from Margaery to persuade one of his wildling friend to relinquish his horse, and he was back now with two. Ronnel couldn’t go, the guards knew him, and might alert someone. So it was only Margaery Tyrell and Hewitt that mounted up in the outer yard. “Don’t speak to anyone.” Ronnel heard Hewitt mutter to her, “and stay close to me.” Ahorse, clad in steel and carrying a sword, Margaery Tyrell looked no longer ridiculous, but a true knight herself. Yet Ronnel could sense her fear in the way she shivered and looked at the people swarming around. Hopefully, to anyone else it will look like an effect of the cold of the early morning. But in the busy outer yard, filled with soldiers’ intent on going out to save Aegon Targaryen from Lancel Lannister’s wrath, no one spared Hewitt and his companion another glance.  The two of them made their way to a gaggle of Stone Crows that was forming up near the gates. In short order, as the clouds started to become visible in the sky, they rode out of the Red Keep.

“Ronnel.” A voice rang across the yard. Ser Wilbur was making his way toward him, “Where is Lady Margaery, do you know?”

“I came looking for her.” Ronnel told him as another column rode past him to the gate, gold cloaks this time, “I didn’t want to stay in Tommen’s rooms anymore.”

While the castle agreed that it was so very sad that Tommen had died, and that someone should go and tell his wife, and comfort her even, they all had better things to do, like guard the walls or hand out spears and ready the awakened horses. So it took them another half an hour to notice that the dead king’s wife was missing. She hadn’t been seen in the Maidenvault since the morning, she hadn’t gone to see her husband’s body, her father didn’t know where she was, neither did her guards.

Lord Connington it seemed had realized that he had better make a deal with the Tyrell brothers at last. “Maybe Aegon could have two wives, he said.” Ser Wilbur told Ronnel. But now with it seeming like Margaery Tyrell had died herself, or worse, had killed her husband and taken herself out of the castle to go to her brothers, he had no choice but to sound for battle. “Lancel had ridden ahead of the army for the hostage exchange, and he will be the one to catch her.” Ser Wilbur told Ronnel, though Ronnel could see that he was having trouble believing that Margaery Tyrell will kill Tommen. “No matter what tale she spins for him,” He said, “Lancel is not foolish enough to let her reach her brothers. And if he finds out  what happened to Tommen, that is it for Aegon.”

The sun had passed the zenith when the other army appeared on the horizon. Ronnel was with Ser Wilbur at the Lion Gate, he had asked to squire for him in this battle. They stood with Lord Connington, guarding him. All around them were the Swords of the Faith. Lord Connington knew that the dornishmen will arrest him as soon as they confirmed that Aegon was dead, so he had kept most of them on the northern walls, facing Lord Harrold’s camp. Down below, Ser Damon Sand had drawn up a force of roughly six thousand men. He was one the few dornishmen that Lord Connington seemed to trust to at least try to save Aegon. He had with him his own few dornishmen, the stormlanders under Lord Selmy, and the Golden Company, to make a last ditch effort to rescue Aegon in case he wasn’t already dead.

The Lannister army inched slowly forward, a steady march across the snowy fields. In the foremost lines, Ronnel thought he could see elephants walking ponderously. The Lannister lines seemingly kept coming, without end. There were forty thousand of them, Ronnel knew. To their right, in the north, Lord Harrold was forming his own battle fronts. Ronnel saw three blocks, the long but thin van, the thick center, and a rear, with archers flanking them from both sides.

Above them all, clouds reigned from horizon to horizon, but they were misshapen, dark in some place, and so thin in others that sunlight seemed to seep through like dust grains falling. It was a multitude of colors up there, orange and yellow to grey and dark, as if some heavenly battle was being raged there as well. Looking at it made you realize how high the ceiling of the world was. Under this ceiling, the armies looked like swarm of ants.

It was when the first arrows from Lord Hardying’s army took to the air that a commotion reached Ronnel’s ears. The entire of the Lannister army was in the view now, elephants charging toward Lord Harrold and cautious lines facing the walls of King’s Landing. But still Lord Connington turned. Behind them stood Lord Varys, with Cersei Lannister beside him. “Hear her out.” Lord Varys said to Jon Connington.

The Queen’s eyes were puffy from crying. But they had no trace of the drink, she seemed stone sober. Instead they were wild with rage and pain. When she spoke to Ser Wilbur and Lord Connington, her voice was hoarse, as if she had screamed really loudly sometime before.

Even hoarse though, her voice was full of venom, “You killed my son.” She accused Ser Wilbur and Lord Connington. Ser Wilbur looked as if he wished he was dead, but Lord Connington was in a hurry. “I have a battle to fight.” He said to her, “If you think I have wronged you, don’t waste your breath with accusations. The gods are about to punish me anyways.”

“You’d deserve it, but I can’t allow that.” To everyone’s shock, Cersei Lannister fell to her knees. “Please my lord, when Lancel hears of Tommen’s death, he will take his revenge on Aegon, knowing that the Dornishmen will be eager to crown my Myrcella. I can’t let that happen. Lord Uller has her surrounded by his swords, so nothing happens to her the way it happened to my son. Both of my sons.” Her mouth twisted, “But he can’t protect her forever. I don’t want a golden shroud for my daughter. Please my lord, let me go to Lancel. I will tell him to bend the knee, he will listen to me, I am his queen. I will make him give you your Aegon, and we will go back to Casterley Rock, never to bother you again. Please my lord, show mercy on me and my daughter, I can’t let her be a queen. Let me save your king.”

They gave her a horse, and a white flag. Ser Wilbur rode with her, Ronnel would have come too, but Ser Wilbur forbade it. “No point in sending three when two can do the job just as well. An arrow might get you.” As the lines below parted to make way for the duo, Ronnel reached out to Cersei’s horse as a last effort, to take it the way he had taken Tommen’s kittens, and various cats and pigeons before. But the horse’s mind was powerful, it kicked the fumbling boy out as soon as it entered, making him cry out even. When he opened his eyes, Ronnel saw that the horse had reared up as well, but Cersei managed to hold it fast.

When he had first arrived at the Red Keep, Ronnel had seen the black tomcat that Arya Stark had chased once for Syrio Forel. He had tried to enter his mind as well, but the cat had resisted like nothing else, screaming and scratching at himself in the middle of the yard like murder. His cries had frightened Ronnel, and he had stopped his efforts, not wanting to hurt the animal even more. Now he wished he had. As he looked over the parapet, Ronnel could do nothing but watch as the lioness of the Rock rode forward with only Ser Wilbur at her side, driving her horse as hard as she could, her skirts bellowing behind her and the white flag snapping overhead, straight ahead at the army bristling with steel without any fear for her own life whatsoever.

Let an arrow hit her, let an arrow hit her, Arya thought, but none did. _Ser Illyn, Ser Meryn, Cersei,_ her mind screamed, _Cerse_ i, _Cersei, Cersei._ Why hadn’t she killed her when she had the chance? Helplessly, she watched as Cersei Lannister disappeared into the lines of the of the Tyrell spearmen. The walls of King’s Landing waited with bated breath. To their right, Lord Harry’s van had merged into the enemy lines, islands around the dying elephans, and now the center was marching forward, a mailed fist of warhorses with foot marching behind. Yet no sword rode from King’s Landing to their aid.

And then five figures emerged from the Tyrell lines facing the walls of King’s Landing. The men along the walls cheered, while Ronnel’s heart sank. Under the blazing sky, they rode hard toward the City walls. In the middle was a man with silvery white hair, beside him was Cersei still clutching her flag. Ser Wilbur rode on her other side, while a man with a white cloak rode on the king’s other side, with another woman beside him.

On the wall, beside Ronnel, Lord Connington turned toward Ser Damon. “Go to the Old Gate, and lead your dornishmen out.” He said in a grave but firm voice, “There is only one person who had motive to kill Tommen. But still, take Hardying alive if you can.”


	46. Jon V

It wasn’t a dragon dream. But it was just as bad.

He saw Winterfell, dark against a purple sky. He was outside the outer walls, standing in a blizzard worse than anything he’d ever seen. Before him, the snowdrifts piled so high against the castle walls that one could just walk up the slope and onto them. He tried to do just that, to go walk up the snow, but he for some reason he couldn’t gain. And all the while the snow kept coming, looking to bury the castle entirely. Dead men rose from beneath the white blanket and grabbed at Jon’s legs, but Jon killed them with his burning sword. He killed them all. But still the snow kept coming. Why was he here? Sansa had promised… The snows kept coming as if they would never stop, blowing in his face and blinding him. An Other smiled at him through a frozen face, just before Jon’s sword cleaved through him and set him afire. But the snows kept coming. Jon stared at his sword, uncomprehending, realizing that no matter how hot it burned, it was no use against the snow. Against the cold. Against Winter.

When he woke up, the blizzard had just ended outside. He set the dream aside from his mind. It was easy now, his nightmares were a nightly occurrences. Be they of ice or of fire, by now he was used to them. He set it aside and thought no more of it. He had to get up, for the day of the trial had arrived.

It had snowed the night before, and the day before that, and the one before that. It had been a blizzard that had covered the north for five days straight. In the southron camp, Jon heard people moaning as they remembered how Stannis had been grounded by one such storm. “It wasn’t Bolton that killed him.” Someone said to him, “It were the angry old gods.” They eyed his sword as if it were the Red R’hllor itself. None of them had seen Jon’s sword burn, but the burned wolfswood was proof enough for them.

That day however, no snowflakes blew in the wind to pierce at your face. It was cold, but it was always cold in the north. Jon Snow couldn’t remember the last time he had been warm. Wasn’t a dragon supposed to be warm? He flexed his sword hand, watching his scars ripple. Wasn’t a Targaryen supposed to be immune to fire? He didn’t even have silver hair or purple eyes. Dragon or wolf, it didn’t seem to matter. A bastard was a bastard.

It was time. They might not get another clear day. Jon knew that Lord Davos would hold the combat today. The smuggler that had threatened to harm Rickon if Jon didn’t leave the wall was now looking to make up for it by handing Jon a kingdom. For a moment Jon considered forgiving him. But then he decided against it. A king couldn’t take hasty decisions. He felt that further thought was needed on the matter Maybe a trial by combat was what was needed… For him and Mormont and the Greatjon and everyone else Sansa had mentioned.

They came for him once he was bathed, dressed and armored. Lord Davos picked up Jon’s sword from where it leaned against the side of the tent and offered it to him flat on his palms. Jon almost felt repulsed looking at it. He wondered how he will feel if it were Ice they were offering him. According to these men, he will take it with glee and thank them and reward them for giving him the greatest gift in the world.

They were holding the trial by combat in front of the Winter Town. The skeleton of the town looked to Jon worse than how the wolfswood had done when he had woken up in Alysanne Mormont’s camp. He remembered closing his eyes, wishing they would remain closed, or that he would be someplace else if they opened. Neither prayer was answered. It was like walking in a nightmare all day and night long. And now they wanted to make that nightmare into his permanent reality.

The two bastards walked side by side as they made their way to the Winter Town, albeit surrounded by different guards. Lord Davos and his cronies walked ahead, being all lordly and important. Jon walked to the edge of his ring of guards. There was Ser Godry the Giantslayer, looking at him. Here is a man who doesn’t like the idea of me being the king. “I wish to speak to the bastard.” Jon said to the man. He smiled when the Giantslayer scowled, “You won’t refuse your king now, would you?”

They made way for him. Once he was close enough, Jon called, “Snow.” He took care to keep his voice down so Lord Davos didn’t hear.

Ramsay Snow gave Jon a dark look. “It’s Bolton, m’lord” He said in a mocking tone that failed to mask his anger. He looked well fed, bathed and shaved. Sansa had said to Jon that Roose Bolton had tried to take his son from Lord Davos’s custody, citing fears that Lord Davos will mistreat Ramsay on purpose so that Jon will win the trial. Those fears were unfounded it seemed. “It doesn’t matter to them.” Jon nodded toward Lord Davos, “Regardless of Bolton or Snow, they are still calling it the Battle of Bastards.”

“Pretty name.” Ramsay Bolton said. “Come to ask for mercy, have you? You won’t get any from this bastard. Come to me in the field to die.” He looked forward as if done talking to Jon.

But Jon wasn’t done with him. “‘Thousands of men don’t need to die. Only one of them.’ Lord Davos is supposed to have said to them.” He lowered his voice further, and said forcefully, “But I don’t want to die.” Ramsay Snow looked at him in surprise at his words. Jon continued, “I don’t think you want to either. But you will, if you manage to even make a cut on me. Your father will kill you.”

Ramsay Snow snorted. “Don’t believe me?” Jon asked. The end of the camp was in sight. Any moment now, Lord Davos would look back. Jon had to be fast. “Your stepmother won’t be there in to see you fight today. She’s with child. We all know what you did to your last brother. Your father doesn’t want it to happen again. He has the son he wanted, and now he wants to get rid of the bastard, and also curry favor with the northlords.”

Ramsay Snow’s face went dark again. Scowls riddled his fleshy face. “Why should we die for them?” Jon demanded of him. “I don’t want to be their king. I know what that entails. What happened to Stannis? What happened to Robb? Even Robert.” And Rhaegar. And Elia and Rhaenys, and Aegon, fake or no. He glanced ahead, Lord Davos was looking at him, frowning. “You can take your chances with your sword against me today.” He said to Ramsay Snow, “Or we can take our chances with our swords, against them.” He looked Snow in the eye, “How sharp is your sword, bastard?”

Ahead, the kingdom awaited. The people stood in a large ring around where Jon and Ramsay Snow would fight. There were faces familiar to Jon, but many unfamiliar as well. The lords of the Vale looked over at the procession approaching from one side of the ring-the knightly finery looking so out of place in the leather and woolen raiment of the northmen-standing with the Blackfish in the front. Of the people he knew, there was the Greatjon, there was Lord Manderley, Lady Flint, Jonelle Cerwyn, Harwood Stout, the four Ryswells, and others he didn’t care to look at.

Closer, at the mouth of the ring, the families and friends of the two champions waited. Sansa had Rickon by her side, her hand on the young boy’s shoulder. Ghost stood beside them, his eyes on Jon. She had brought him to Jon’s tent the day they told him about the trial by combat. But when she had gotten up to leave, Ghost had gotten up with her. “He doesn’t want to stay with me.” Jon said to her. The wolf was angry at Jon, he could feel it without feeling it, the same way Jon was angry at his family. He’d pushed the wolf away, and now it looked like he had succeeded. “Take him with you.” He’d said to Sansa, “A dragon shouldn’t have a wolf anyway.”

Opposite to Sansa stood the Lord of the Dreadfort. Behind him was the Lady Dustin of Barrowton, instead of his Frey wife. Jon glanced sideways at the Bastard, but couldn’t make out anything apart from flared nostrils. “How are you feeling?” Sansa asked him anxiously, and Jon turned to her.

Beside them, Bolton’s Bastard came to a stop before his sire. Sansa was saying something to Jon, but he wasn’t listening. “Fahter.” Ramsay Snow greeted Lord Roose, “I don’t see the lovely Fat Walda. Didn’t she want to see me kill Ned Stark’s bastard?”

“She is sick.” Answered Lord Roose in that soft voice of his, his eyes searching his son’s, “Bloodshed has never been her forte.”

Ramsay Snow sighed. “Well at least you’ve brought my boys.” He smiled to the men his father had brought with him, “How foolish of you.” He unslung his sword from his belt and put it through his father’s heart.

Lord Bolton’s gasp mingled with those of the people around him. For a moment, everything seemed frozen in place. Then Ramsay Snow twisted his sword, and pulled it out. “Is that how you did Robb Stark, father?” He asked loudly. Roose Bolton didn’t answer, but fell to his knees, his mouth agape and his lips red.

Behind Jon, someone found their wits and drew their sword. Ramsay Snow heard it too though. He whirled just as Jon pushed Sansa and Rickon backward. Ghost moved before them, baring his teeth. They saw Lord Davos march forward, his sword raised before him, “Lower your sword.” He shouted to the bastard. Behind him, his men drew swords as well.

All around them, people were trying to get back, away from the bleeding corpse on the ground. But Ramsay Snow stood his ground, “Come forward smuggler,” He leered from behind his sword, “I don’t have my fletching knife. But I’ll make do with the longsword you so kindly gave me.” His eyes were of a madman, of someone who’d seen his death and wasn’t afraid of it.

“Yield before you make me kill you.” Lord Davos snarled, fear in his voice at the turn of events. The lords from the ring were on their way to where the commotion was, some running, and some walking. Shouts and questions and confusion was hurled from this side to that side, people crowding forward to see what was going on. Bolton’s men drew their swords. Lady Dustin called to them to stop, to let the bastard go, but they paid her no heed, instead looking around in fear at the lords approaching them. Ramsay Snow heard her though, and he looked back, almost. Seeing his chance, Lord Davos charged forward.

He moved too soon however. Ramsay Snow got his sword up in time, and started to answer back in kind. “Alyn, Skinner.” He screamed at his boys, “Help me peel this Onion.” Fear made the Bastard’s Boys obey their lord. They turned toward the Onion Knight. Lord Galbart and his men rushed to Lord Seaworth’s help. Pandemonium broke across the grounds as the swords began to clash in the earnest.

“Get back.” Jon pushed Sansa and Rickon further back into the crowd. Most of the northmen had gotten over their shock by now, and they ran to the aid of the Onion Knight. Jon saw some Ryswell running toward Winterfell, yelling “Open the gates, open the gates.” He could hear Rickon whimper. “Bastard,” He heard Ramsay call, still fighting Davos Seaworth. “Come with me,” He shouted to Jon, and ducked just in time as Lady Meage tried to take him down, “Come with me to Winterfell.” The fields were in chaos, but Jon saw that the Boltons weren’t yielding. They were being driven backward, but they were succeeding in backing toward the castle, through the streets of the Winter Town.

Winterfell’s gates were opening. “Go back to the camps.” Jon said to Sansa, and marched forward, “Ghost, go with them.” he said before remembering that he would go whether or not Jon willed it or not.

Ahead, he could see that Tormund had come to aid Ramsay Snow. “Snow.” He roared, waving his hand urgently when he found respite. Close to him, Sigorn was matching blows with the Blackfish. Behind them all, an assortment of Boltons and Dustins and Wildlings were pouring out of Winterfell.

Jon drew his sword. “Jon, don’t.” Sansa’s called out from behind him, and he came to his senses. What if it starts burning? Gritting his teeth, he stood his ground and watched the chaos from a distance. Before him, Ramsay Snow broke free of the ring surrounding him. He was bleeding from a deep gash in his cheek, yet he grinned at Jon, “Come Snow. Fuck their crown. We’ll rule Winterfell together.” He yelled, and turned back to run toward the castle, right on the heels of Lady Dustin.

A chill went down Jon’s spine. He knew what was going to happen before the Bastard even lifted his sword. From so far away though, he could only watch helplessly as Ramsay Snow slashed at the woman in front of him. Just before the tide emerging from Winterfell swallowed them up, Jon saw him cleave Barbray Dustin from shoulder to waist in a single stroke. Blood spurted as the two parts separated, and Jon didn’t know from where Lady Barbray found the strength to scream. He heard Sansa gasp behind him. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The northern lords scattered like leaves before the incoming tide. Jon could hear horns being sounded in the camps behind him. They were going to attack the walls. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Jon saw Mance Rayder riding past him, heard Crowfood Umber’s battle cry. If he dies, or even Mance, Sansa wouldn’t like it. Tormund was shouting for him again, and Jon felt his feet carry him forward. He had to do something. “Fall back.” He screamed. “Mance, fall back, we’re closing the gate.” To make him believe it, he broke into a run.

Tormund ran close by him, grinning, a bloody sword in hand. Jon’s stomach twisted as he looked at it. A northman’s blood. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But he’d known that something will go wrong. It always does. That’s how the world is. The plans always go to shit.

They cleared the gate, and Tormund shouted for them to close. The deep rumble of sounded from the gatehouse, and Tormund turned to Jon. “Mance is still outside.” Jon reminded him.

“He’ll come.” Tormund rasped. He pulled Jon in a hug, making him flinch due to his sword. “Welcome back Snow.” He laughed. “I heard what the bastard told you. We’ll rule Winterfell together.”

Jon made himself nod. People were riding back through the gates, so they had to move. On the walls, Jon could hear bows being fired. His heart skipped a beat with each snap of the string, and every time the men on the walls cheered. What do you care for them, bastard? A voice asked him in his head. They don’t care for you. If they knew who you were, they’d burn you as revenge for Lord Rickard.

There was a commotion ahead in the yard, a crowd surrounding yet another confrontation. Jon and Tormund pushed through them. In the center, they saw Harwood Stout and Ramsay Snow facing each other, their swords raised before them.

“You killed her.” One armed Stout was screaming shrilly, spittle flying from his mustache, “You killed them both, you crazy bastard.”

A sudden outburst of barks and howls sprouted from beside the armory. Three hounds burst through the door, snapping at the men hastening out of their way and sniffing the air. Harwood Stout jumped at the sight of them, and his men drew their swords. Jon suddenly felt very naked without Ghost beside him.

Ramsay Snow smiled another leering smile, “I killed them.” He told Harwood Stout, madness dancing in his eyes, “And I’ll kill you and feed you to Kyra if you don’t get that fucking sword out of my face.” At his words, the Boltons took out their swords, and the yard was suddenly full of steel. “Winterfell is mine, Stout. My father’s men are mine. I left the Ryswells out there, and their men are mine as well. Against that, what do you have? Five hundred? One thousand? But if you still have the balls to use that sword, make sure you kill me. ‘Cause otherwise your dying will be long and hard.”

Kill each other, Jon thought. Kill each other and leave Winterfell for me. Hooves clopped on the bridge behind him, and he heard the sound of gates closing shut. Mance Rayder had returned. When Jon turned to look at him, he felt his heart stop cold.

Sansa was hanging from his hand. The-King-Beyond-The-Wall had made the ride into the castle while lifting Sansa by one arm. He let go of her now, making her fall to the floor. Jon rushed toward her.

Mance vaulted off his horse. “What’s going on here?” He looked at the men behind the swords, “Fools, they will be coming any time. Better use your steel on them.”

Jon picked Sansa up, she looked half dead by fright. Gasping, she threw her arms around him and started sobbing. With some relief, he saw that she wasn’t harmed. What was she doing here? What had happened to ghost?

“’Tis your death coming from out there.” Jon heard One arm Stout snarl at Mance. But then Stout’s gaze went slack as his eyes found Sansa. In his eyes, Jon saw the same fear he himself was feeling.

Ramsay Snow stepped into the sudden pause. “Their death.” He spun in a circle, looking from man to man. “Winterfell has two massive walls.” He said. Don’t notice Sansa, Jon prayed, hiding her face in his shoulders. But how long could he keep her hidden from him? He’d come here to rescue Lady Catelyn, and now Sansa was also here. “Let them come try cross them,” Ramsay Snow continued, without looking at Sansa. “We have more than enough men in the castle to hold them off. Hold them off until they get buried in the blizzard out there. Don’t forget who it was that killed Stannis. Or who took Winterfell the first time.” The men began to look at one another. Jon saw that the wildlings were already smiling. “My father was a craven. He wanted peace.” Said the bastard with contempt, “He wanted to be a lord. I just want to be a man.” He looked around once again. “How many _men_ do I have with me?”

Cheers greeted him, the wildlings and the Boltons loudest. Harwood Stout seemed ready with words of his own, but he took one look at Sansa and sheathed his sword. His suspicious eyes found Jon, and he turned back to go into the castle, his men following him.

“To your posts.” Mance Rayder shouted at the men, “Take your arrows with you. Let’s run Winterfell’s gray walls red.” The men cheered again, and began dispersing. Ramsay Snow had gotten on his knees, surrounded by his hounds. “I thought you were all dead,” He kissed them as they jumped all over him, slobbering “I thought I was dead.” An ugly smile formed on his face. “Let’s go visit my dear step-mother. Are you hungry, Kyra?” There was a knife in his hand.

Jon backed away from him. Sansa was still clutching at Jon, her body pressed against his. “Take deep breaths.” Jon told her, and felt her trying. He drew her closer and readied his sword, in case anyone dared to approach.

It was Mance and Tormund that did. “I found her running after you.” Mance said, nodding toward Sansa. “She’d make a good hostage. But if I were you, I’d keep her somewhere the bastard couldn’t get to her. He has a black soul, that one. I feel I shouldn’t have stopped Stout from killing him.”

It wasn’t you, Jon thought. It was Sansa that stopped his hand. Could the grizzly One arm know that Lady Dustin had been talking to Sansa? He had to speak to her, and fast. “I’ll take care of it.” He said to Mance. He turned to go away and figure out in peace what he should do next, but Tormund moved in his way. “Let’s keep her with Val.” He said, smiling as if to hide the fact that Jon had no choice. “She’ll take care of her while we man the walls.”

“No, please.” They heard Sansa whimper, “Jon, please. Let me go.” She began crying anew. “I want my mother.” She leaned in close to him again, and said in a shaky whisper meant only for him, “Take me to her, and Rayder.” She pulled away, and wailed, “You can’t betray me like this. Jon, please. For our father…” She started trying to free herself from him.

What was she playing at? Suddenly afraid that the wildlings will see how half-hearted her attempts at freedom were, Jon shook her, “You had an archer waiting to kill me in the crowd.” He snarled, startling her, “You shouldn’t have planned your plans right in front of Ghost, Sansa. You betrayed me first.” He turned to Mance, his face stone, “Take us to Lady Stoneheart.”

It was easier to convince them than he would have thought. Roose Bolton had kept Lady Catelyn isolated in a dungeon. Every room in Winterfell, every keep and every tower, was filled with men-with wildlings and Boltons and Dustins and Ryswells-except for that dungeon. Mance and Tormund both agreed that that was the best place Sansa could stay safe from Ramsay Snow, Val was a spearwife and would like to fight. Sansa must’ve known all this. Lady Barbray must’ve told her. Sansa had been talking with her, using the men Alysanne Mormont had sent to Winterfell. Lady Dustin had agreed to open the gates of Winterfell to Sansa, and give her back Lady Catelyn, in exchange for a pardon. But only if Sansa could get Roose Bolton kill. “She will bend the remaining Bolton swords.” Sansa had said to Jon when she had visited him, “All you have to do is to get Ramsay Snow to kill his father.” She had been talking with Theon as well, and he’d told her about how Ramsay Snow had killed his trueborn brother. Jon had used that to get the bastard to kill Lord Roose. They had all thought that Ramsay Snow will not long outlive his sire, however, and that had been their mistake. Not only had he done that, he had killed Barbray Dustin as well, and with her all the chances of Sansa getting her mother back.

Or so Jon thought. Sansa seemed to be thinking something else. He wished he knew what she was planning, and even more, hoped that she had a plan and wasn’t just thinking on her feet. For Jon had no plan. His plan had been to get inside Winterfell and defend Lady Catelyn’s life through the battle. So that once he delivered her to Sansa, she would hold up her end of the bargain. No more cold, she had promised him. No more vows. No more duties.

Jon hadn’t been down in the dungeons of Winterfell all that much, but he knew the way. Mance accompanied them. To keep an eye on then, Jon suspected. Tormund had gone to see to the defenses.

The dungeons were deserted, with only a few guards at the main entrance. None of the cells had any occupants, and the only light came from the windows near the ceiling. Outside them, Jon could see that the snows had started again. Lady Catelyn’s cell was the bottom most one, and the only torch in the dungeons was in her cell.

When Mance opened the door to her cell, Lady Catelyn got to her feet, fear on her face at the sight of her daughter joining her. Jon stared as Sansa ran to her mother. He’d never liked Lady Catelyn, but even he felt sorry when he looked at her face. Another part of him felt relief. Tthis could have been me, that part whispered, had Bowen Marsh gotten to his face. All the scars Jon had were hidden by his clothes.

“Let’s go to the walls.” Mance said to Jon, reaching for him, and Jon snapped out of it. He grabbed Mance’s hand and pulled, making him crash into the opposite to him headfirst. The King-Beyond-The-Wall gasped, and Jon smiled at the memory that came to him. He bent the hand he was holding, making Mance cry out. With his free hand, Jon took out his sword and put it on Mance’s neck, “Stay there.” He snarled.

The women had backed into a corner at the scuffle, they came forward now, Lady Catelyn’s eyes going from Mance to Jon. Mance craned his neck, his face still pressed against the wall, “Should’ve known.” He gasped, “The pack stays together.”

Jon agreed with him silently. “Let him up.” Sansa said.

“What’s going on?” Lady Catelyn asked. Jon backed up a little, “Make a wrong move, and I’ll gut you.” He said to Mance, pressing the sword into Mance’s neck and drawing blood.

Mance stood up slowly. He looked at Sansa, “If you think this bastard can get you out of the castle, you’re mad.”

Sansa met his stare, though Jon could see that she almost flinched at his words, “Maybe I’ll die here.” She answered, “Or maybe I won’t. What I know for a certainty, is that you’ll die too, and all your men.” Her voice got stronger. “Harwood Stout will betray you for the promise of the pardon his Lady tried to get from me, and with the men Lady Alysanne sent with you into Winterfell, they’ll stab you in the back just as my uncle attacks. And once the northmen cross the wall, they will find each and every wildling in the castle, and they’ll kill them. After that they will turn on those who are still living at Mole’s Town, to rid the North of them once and for all.”

Mance’s face was angry, “So, what do you want from me? You want me to smuggle you and your mother out of here? Will you make the northmen accept us then? Will you make them stay their swords?”

“I can’t.” Sansa said, “And from all Jon has told me about you, you know this. But I can offer you something else. I can give you a chance to fight for your life.”

Mance’s eyes narrowed, “Fight for our life?”

Jon saw Lady Catelyn looking at her daughter. The woman moved closer to Sansa, her hand in hers, squeezing it. But Sansa ignored it for the nonce. “There is no place for the free folk in the North. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Jon has told me about the free folk.” Jon had only told her about Ygritte, partly to convince her that he couldn’t keep his vows and was in fact an oathbreaker, and partly because she had been so much on his mind lately. “He told me about how their only crime was to be borne on the wrong side of the wall.” Sansa said, “And from the men I’ve seen walking around in this castle, I myself couldn’t have told them apart from the other northmen.

“But my own northmen can, and they won’t have you stay in their lands. If you stay in the north, you’ll die. It might take a month, or a year, and you might bleed the north as you go, but there is only one end to this story. The free folk will die. But if you let me help you conquer a new land to make your homeland, then you have a chance.”

“What land?” Mance asked. Even Jon was curious. He didn’t know about all this. He didn’t know that Sansa meant to make peace with them. When they had been waiting for the skies to clear so they could hold the trial, Sansa had been meeting with Jon daily, and he had asked her not to kill the Wildlings if she could help it. It had been his fault, he’d told her. He had failed Tormund and driven him into Roose Bolton’s hand. Jon had asked her not to punish the wildlings for his mistakes. But even till yesterday, Sansa hadn’t said that she had found a way.

“My uncle has taken Casterley Rock.” Sansa declared, startling everyone in the cell. “He doesn’t know it yet, but he is going to send the fleet he found docked there to me. Euron Greyjoy will soon return to his lands, but his niece has a mind to take back her kingdom. Agree to make a marriage alliance with her-It can’t be you, you are marked for death as a deserter. But give me anyone else, and I’ll help your people take the Iron Islands.”

Mance stared at her incredulously, “You want me to kneel before you at the block so you can take my head off, and then you want my people sail over the sea and fight strange people in strange lands? You must be mad, or think I am a fool.”

But Sansa wasn’t deterred, “I think you are a king.” She said. “Jon told me that you came to attend the feast my father threw for Robert when the king was here. I remember you. You sang for us, Aemon the Dragonknight for my brother Bran, and Brave Young Daeron, and Alysanne and the Roadside Rose for me and my friend Jeyne. What songs will they sing of you, you think? The king who crossed the wall? Or the king who led his people to die in a different place than before? Convince yourself, and your people, that this is your only chance.” She paused a bit, looking at the indecision on his face, “You have been looking for allies, but allies will always betray you, as my own brother learned to his sorrow, or fail you, as has happened till now in your case. What you need is a friend. I could be that friend. My own house was almost destroyed in these last two years. The only reason I am here, is because Winterfell had friends. Friends in the Eyrie and in the Riverlands, and they helped House Stark rise again. I can help you rise just the same. Asha Greyjoy agrees with me. Iron Islands is also bereft of friends. When I offered her my friendship, she accepted, even if it means she will have to marry a wildling. Friends are what will take you through this winter, your grace. But for friendship, there needs to be trust. You can trust that I will help the Free Folk take their new kingdom, if not for the promise I made to Jon, then because I don’t need the wildlings penned up at Mole’s Town to torment the Mountain Clans and the rest of the North. But for me to gain your trust, you have to kneel before a godswood and answer for your crimes.”

“She’s right, you know.” A voice said from the door, “For friendship, there needs to be trust. And you’ve broken mine, sadly.”

Jon reacted too late. Lady Catelyn was the closest one to the door, and it was her that Ramsay Snow seized. Sansa’s scream echoed in the cell. Even before Jon had his sword pointed to the bastard, he had a knife pressed to the red smile on Lady Catelyn’s throat.

“Let her go.” Jon said, from behind his sword. Snow had his hounds with him still, three snapping jaws filled with teeth. Ramsay Snow’s face was covered in blood, as were his hands up to his elbows as if he had stuck them in a bleeding pig. When had he appeared? How had they crept up on them so silently? How did he get in? Too late, he remembered that the guards posted at the doors to the dungeons had been Bolton men.

Behind him, Sansa had fallen to her knees, her face clasped before her as if in prayer, looking in horror at her mother’s captor. Ignoring Jon, Ramsay Snow leered at her, “You are far prettier than your friend Jeyne. I think I’ll have you as my new wife.”

“Take me.” Sansa blurted, “Let my mother go. Please, let my mother go.”

Lady Catelyn shoved angrily at the bastard, but he held her fast, pressing her knife to her throat menacingly, “Oh, I’ll take you.” He said to Sansa, “But I’ll take Mance Rayder first.” Turning to the Wildling King, he reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a letter, “We’ve had our differences Abel, but I won’t let you die for a deserter and a traitor. After all you’ve done, you deserve better than that.” He waved the letter before himself, looking nothing less than a madman, “This is a letter from King’s Landing, from someone named Nymeria. She writes to her sister, telling her how her betrothed has been betrayed by Aegon’s men, and been taken prisoner. They are planning to attack the north next.” He smiled at Mance, “Kill Jon Snow, and together, we can hold the Blackfish till his Vale lords find out their lord’s been imprisoned. They’ll be gone then, or bend the knee to Aegon. That’s lesser number of men for us to fight. I came here to tell you the good news bastard,” He said accusingly to Jon, with something like hurt in his voice, “But you had to betray me like this. Maybe I’ll make you my new Reek.” He looked back toward Mance, “What do you say, singer? You want her to write your song for you? Or will you make your own song?”

“Don’t listen to him.” Jon said to Mance. “Ramsay Snow won’t make it out of this cell alive. Bran and his friends will tear him apart.” As if on cue, two of three the bitches stopped their growling and turned their face toward their master.

Every eye in the cell widened at the behavior of the dogs. “Warg.” Ramsay Snow spat. He shook the blade he held by Lady Catelyn’s throat, “They even make a move toward me, I’ll send her back to the hell she came from.”

They stood at an impasse. Lady Catelyn glanced from her daughter to the hound beside her whose eyes were trained on her. She gave half a sob, and turned to look back at Sansa. Though she spoke, Sansa appeared not understand one word. Jon understood them though. “I don’t remember the last time I made a friend.” Lady Catelyn said, red tears seeping down her torn cheeks, “They were all alliances. All doomed. You don’t need me anymore, Sansa. Bring Arya home. And my Bran…” She raised her hand, and brought it down, aiming for the Bastard’s groin.

Ramsay Snow reopened Lady Stoneheart’s wound. One of his hounds attacked the other, while the one that Bran had warged into went mad with fear and started clawing himself. But Jon sprang forward, taking the bastard by the point of his sword and pushing him out of the cell. If we only had had Ghost as guard… He pulled the red hot Longclaw out of the bastard’s chest and slashed at his face, splitting his skull and making one part slide down to the floor, the brains inside visible. Jon sheathed his sword, not caring if it burned his breeches, and rushed back inside the cell.

He found Sansa kneeling on her mother’s corpse, screaming and crying. Lady Catelyn’s rotted face gazed toward the ceiling, the blood gushing from her throat. Sansa seemed to be trying to put it back inside, scooping the blood up from the ground and pressing her hand on her mother’s throat repeatedly as she screamed for her to not die.

The sight of it was almost too much for Jon. He pulled her away, toward the wall. She was still screaming as she looked at him, her hands wet and red with blood. Jon knelt before her and tried to shush her. But she wouldn’t stop. He wished he had any words to comfort her, but all he could think was how he must’ve looked the same as Lady Catelyn, sprawled before Castle Black when Marsh had killed him. In the end, he gave up on trying to calm her and simply hugged her.

“I deceived him-” Jon heard Sansa sob when her words became somewhat coherent, “Roose Bolton. Tha-That’s why the gods punished me.” She pushed Jon away, and took her face in her hands. “I can’t. Jon, I can’t…” She was still sobbing, “I don’t deserve to. Take the crown Jon. I can’t rule anymore…”

“You can.” Jon held her shoulders and shook her, trying to ignore the crying dog behind him. He couldn’t comfort Bran as well right now, he didn’t know how to. “She told you to bring Arya back. And Bran.” He said to Sansa instead. I can’t take the crown… Sansa had promised. He felt guilty that he should push the burden upon Sansa, but she could take it. “You are just as old as Robb was when he marched.” He said desperately, “He made a mistake. Remember what you said Theon told you. He heard about Bran and Rickon dying, that’s why he fell into the arms of that Westerling girl. Even Lady Catelyn, she let Jaime Lannister go when she heard her sons dying. You mustn’t make their mistakes. You can’t let your heart take over your head. You have to be braver than Robb, smarter than Lady Catelyn.”

Sansa was looking at him as if he was saying something incomprehensible, “Braver than Robb?” She asked as if she didn’t know what that was.

“As brave as father.” Jon answered, squeezing her shoulders.

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, Jon staring at her frightened eyes. Then, trying not to look at her mother, Sansa tried for a deep breath. It broke into a sob, and momentarily her face twisted. But she tried again, and she succeeded in straightening herself up. Jon stood up, wondering why a part of him was disappointed. He didn’t want the crown, did he? He helped Sansa to her feet.

Once upright, Sansa looked behind Jon to Mance Rayder. Jon had almost forgotten about him. Whirling about, he took his sword out again.

Mance had his own sword in his hand. Looking at it, Sansa said, “You could have killed us while we were down.” Her voice showed no fear, “Why didn’t you?”

Mance threw his sword at her feet, “Because that’s not what friends do.” The-King-Beyond-the-Wall said, “Make them make a good song for me, girl. And promise me that you’ll sing it with my men once you take the Iron Islands.”

Brynden Blackfish sounded the attack not too long after that. But when they approached, they found the gates of Winterfell opened, and Sansa waiting for them. Jon wasn’t there to see it-he was in the godswood, sitting before the heart tree-but he knew that she let only the Knights of the Vale enter Winterfell, to secure it for her. She was then going to call Davos Seaworth for a parlay as the other lords of the North digested the fact that there was once again a Stark in Winterfell.

The blizzard worsened outside as the sky began to darken, but the snows never made it to the soil of the godswood. They never had, Jon had heard. The wood was filled with mists rising from the grounds instead. Jon wondered whether the lords will be able to see her when Sansa addressed them. Maybe Jon ought advise her to gather the lords in the Great Hall. But then he remembered that he didn’t care. The north was Sansa’s responsibility, Jon had himself handed it to her, and she could handle it like she saw fit. Jon just wanted to be left alone. He wondered why sounded forceful as he told himself this.

It took them longer than Jon had thought, but startled Jon when they filed inside. The Wildlings came in first. Tormund and Val, Ygon-Old-Father, Borraq. Grimfaced and angry, none of them offered Jon as much as a glance. But they were here, and that meant that Mance had convinced them of their only chance to life. Jon hoped Yigrette would be proud of him. He could care about her, couldn’t he? Now he wore no black cloak, or had no title, he could maybe return to their cave, and tell her how he had save her people.

Next to come were the lords of the Vale-Belmore, Redfort, Lord Royce and his children, Lord Hersy- looking around at the oldest standing godswood in westeros. Then Sansa allowed the northmen to come in. Jon went and stood where Ser Brynden stood with Ghost, not caring whether the old man liked it or not. The stormlanders came last, standing farthest from the Heart Tree.

Sansa came in after the Stormlanders, walking beside Rickon and his black direwolf, Shaggydog. Jon could feel Bran looking at them as they approached, and he felt sorry that Sansa couldn’t. Once before the Heart Tree, she spun around to face the northmen.

She shook Ramsay Snow’s letter at them, red from her mother’s blood. “King’s Landing has betrayed us, again.” She announced to the gathered lords, “With treachery, they attacked Harry and imprisoned him.” Jon could hear the Lords of the Vale gasp. “Harry, who helped me take revenge on the Freys, and gave me men so I could take back my home and punish the Boltons for their treachery. Aegon’s men threw the help he offered them in his face and stabbed him in the back. I mean to make them pay for that.”

She looked around the crowd once, and spoke slowly. “In the council, I spoke how my brother was dead the moment he was crowned.” She took a slight pause, “I misspoke,” she said after she thought they’d remembered. “He died because he took only half the kingdom.” She paused again, letting her words sink in.

Then she looked at Meage Mormont, standing there with her daughter, “If we are being dragged into pointless wars,” She said, “it is our duty to make sure such wars don’t happen again. If we face injustice, we must make sure that that doesn’t happen again. Because if you come across a snake pit, you kill the snakes. Especially if those snakes have vowed to strike you.” She paused again, looking around the crowd, her face grim. “When I came back north, I tried to be a northman, for your sake. But I see that it was a mistake. Robb was a northman, and he remained one. He never acknowledged that Seven Kingdoms were but one. The Old Way is dead, even the Greyjoy Princess agrees with me. The Kingdom of the North can’t survive, for the name the Seven Kingdoms is nothing but a lie.” The crowd was looking at her dismayed, but Sansa wasn’t deterred. She looked at Davos Seaworth, “I have been talking to the Lord Hand Davos Seaworth, and he agrees with me that it is time that the Stag and the Wolf ran together again, friends united the way they did in my father’s time, so we may once again defeat those who would crush us, and finally end this reign of dishonor and deceit.”

She waved the red letter in the air again. “They’ve made the Tyrells bend the knee, and the Redwyn Fleet is theirs. They have another fleet at King’s Landing, along with the fleet that Cersei Lannister built for her son. The Lannisters have also bent the knee, and Daven Lannister is descending into the Riverlands with an army. Aegon’s Hand plans to attack us on three fronts. He means for the Redwyn Fleet to take the Iron Islands, and then continue on to the Stoney Shore. Daven Lannister will continue down to Moat Cailin, and force us to defend that causeway, while Aegon Targaryen attacks White Harbor, ending us once and for all.” Angry, her voice had risen. There was a fire in her eyes the likes of which Jon had never seen there. “But we won’t go that easy. Soon, they’ll learn that my uncle Lord Edmure has taken Casterley Rock. Also, in their hesitation, King’s Landing has let Harrion Karstark regroup near the God’s Eye, and he has Margaery Tyrell as his prisoner. All this will stay Daven Lannister.” She looked at the assembled lords of the Vale, “As much as I want to send you to free Harry, I can’t. There are more than fifty thousand soldiers camped beneath the walls of King’s Landing. We can’t defeat such a force, not right now, not even with the fleet that Lord Manderley has built for the North. Better to make them come up here, and make them fight in the cold, while we take away their allies.” She looked back at the whole crowd, “The army of the North will be raised at White Harbor. Under Ser Brynden, to defend Robb’s kingdom against the Targaryens. As for the Knights of the Vale, they will be led by Lord Davos to the Iron Islands, along with Lady Asha Greyjoy. The princess still has some friends at home, waiting for her to come back and free them from the tyrant Euron Greyjoy. The Free Folk will be accompanying them, to make themselves a new home in the Iron Islands with the help of Winterfell.” Hearing this now, Jon realized for the first time how absurd it sounded. The northmen could also feel it. But their dismayed gazes travelled to the grim faces of Tormund and his friends, and their dismay deepened as they saw the Wildlings had agreed.

Sansa was still talking. “We will take Iron Throne for Queen Shireen.” She said, “But the queen must have a king.” She paused a moment as the kingdom perked its ears. “I’d called the council to determine who should be our king, but the council has failed. So I must make that decision myself, in my capacity as Robb’s oldest sibling.” She looked at Jon. “Jon Snow. Come stand before the Heart Tree.”

With the north looking on, Jon moved to stand in front of Sansa. He could feel the eyes of the Heart Tree as well, gazing deep into his soul. “Why did you march from the wall?” Sansa asked him. “The first time.”

Jon looked down. He’d agreed to the words, but they still enveloped him with shame. Somewhere deep inside, he still cared. “To free Arya.” He mumbled.

“Louder.” Sansa said, no pity in her voice.

Jon raised his voice, as well his face to look at Sansa and Rickon. “I had believed that the girl I thought was my sister Arya had fled from Ramsay Snow’s hands. I knew he would want her back. I tried,” He emphasized the word, “to march from the wall to save her from him.”

“So it wasn’t just to, _‘make the bastard pay for his words’_ as Selyse had had us believe?”

Jon hung his head, “No.” He said.

“The gods killed you for that.” Sansa said. “They killed my brother when he broke his vow. Even my father, when he lied on the steps of Baelor’s Sept to save my neck from Cersei’s knife, the gods punished him.” Her voice hitched for the first time during the evening, prompting Jon to look at her. He knew what she was thinking. _The gods punished me by taking away my mother when I falsely drew Roose Bolton out of the safety of his castle to kill him._ “Did you think you would be spared?” She asked. “They want you to become their king, to lead them in battle with your burning sword in the forefront. But I can’t let an oathbreaker take my brother’s crown. You have already demonstrated that you can’t put your duties before your family, and for that reason, I am nullifying Robb’s will wherein he made you his heir. By law you should pay the deserter’s price. But the gods gave you your life back, and it seems it isn’t mine to take anymore. The gods may see some use for you, but I don’t. So I am exiling you beyond the wall, to look for our King, Brandong Stark. But should you return without our brother my lord, I will not hesitate to take your head. God’s chosen or no.”

The godswood came awash with gasps. A lost cripple for a king? Was this a Joke? Jon could feel the northmen thinking. The buzz only increased when they saw Jon lower his head, and kneel before Sansa’s verdict. Sansa let it all wash upon her. Then when it subsided, she looked around at the mutinous looks that greeted her. “This is my ruling.” Sansa told them in a voice of steel. “You can either go with it, or against it.” She pointed to the ground before her, alongside Jon. “You can bend the knee, or walk out of this godswood, I won’t stop you, to your armies, and try your chances against the Starks.”

There was silence in the wood. Then Jon heard someone moving forward. They took a long time in coming, and Jon realized why Sansa had made the Stormlanders stand the farthest. Every eye was on Davos Seaworth as he moved to take his place beside Jon, making them wonder why the Onion Knight had abandoned his Azor Ahai for Sansa. Even Jon didn’t know. But if Sansa had bent him, she could bend the others.

And it seemed that she did. For one by one, they came and knelt behind Jon. Maybe it was the news of King’s Landing conspiring against them, or all of Sansa’s words, or just the sheer look on her face as she stared down each gaze upon her, but they came. Jon felt them behind him, kneeling and saying the words, hailing Bran even if somewhat uneasily. They’ll come around, Jon thought, they must. Peace was the best inducement.

Jon felt something land on his hair, something wet. He brushed at it and stared uncomprehendingly at the snowflake that came away. The blizzard outside must have increased tenfold, he thought. Winter is Coming, the words flashed before his mind, before he remembered not to care. You don’t hurt if you don’t care. And he didn’t want to hurt anymore. In his mind the conviction returned. He didn’t want to be here, with all eyes on his every move. He rubbed his wet finger in the soil, on the grass. Only a few weeks and then I’ll be done with the snow. Just till he reached the Frozen Shore. Sansa had promised him that a ship will be waiting for him there, a ship to the life of a Targaryen Bastard. “If Bran is so powerful as to send wights to the wall, he can find his own way back.” She’d said to him. “You can take the ship wherever you want. To the south, to join your brother if that is your wish.” Jon had no intention of joining Aegon however, he wouldn’t raise a sword against Sansa. It had to be Essos then. The life of a Targaryen bastard was a sellswords life. No more vows, no more duties. Just him and his sword, burning or otherwise, it didn’t matter. And Ghost too, if he came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should explain myself.
> 
> A prince was promised, not a king. Never a king.
> 
> And before someone says that Sansa isn't brave enough to retain her wits upon being taken b Mance, you might want to remember that she descended the scariest part of the stairs from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon with only the trembling Robert Arryn beside her. Even Lady Catelyn froze on those steps, and Mya Stone reportedly has stories of many formidable lords who have lost their courage down their pants there.
> 
> I'll be taking a break now, to polish the story here on ahead. Maybe a month. Stick around, for I'll be back, just like the wolves Jojen promised will come back. In the meantime, if you want to hollar at me, you can always turn to the comments section, or go to my tumblr blog asoiafnerd.tumblr.com
> 
> Let's see how many people still follow this story after I've exiled Jon to the haunted forest. Just remember that this is a Winds of Winter fanfiction, not a Fields of Summer fic. Even GRRM has said that many of his characters in very dark places right now. Think of this fic as the autumn before the real winter.
> 
> If you want to know why Davos would agree to bend the knee, why he would abandon his Azor Ahai, or want to know what happens to Jon in Essos(wink wink), read on. And keep commenting.


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